/ 


/**-e3 


>oeur 


>owr 


poem 


BY 


MARY   RANDALL   SHIPPEY 


Robert  <§rter  Coofce 

NEW     YORK 
MDCDIV 


Copyright,  1904,  by  Robert  Grier  Cooke 


foretooth 

The  author  of  Sceur  Marie  has  solved  the  problem 
of  the  soul  that  she  sought  to  explain : — Eight  years 
ago  she  passed  from  this  life.  The  poem  is  an  origi- 
nal attempt,  of  a  woman,  to  give  an  answer  to  the 
questions  of  the  soul.  It  owes  little  to  books,  but 
much  to  conversation  and  experience  of  the  heart. 
There  will  be  found  in  the  poem  a  minor  tone  of  music 
running  through  its  lines  apart  from  the  incident 
and  metre — who  can  say?  Does  not  the  soul  in 
Earth-life,  now  and  then,  come  clearly  to  knowledge 
and  expression  of  itself?  It  is  always  insistent,  but 
material  needs  engross  the  intellect  and  rarely  can 
the  soul  compel  recognition.  A  few  through  the 
ages  have  kept  truth,  some  find  it,  and  it  is  given 
when  it  will  be  received. 


2227S26 


»oeur 


I  KNEW  her  only  as  a  gray-garbed  nun 
Whose  gentle  mission  took  her  wheresoe'er 
A  wearied  body  or  grief -sickened  heart 
Had  need  of  rest  and  that  sure  healing  wrought 
By  her  soft  touch  and  low  sweet-cadenced  voice. 

By  what  thrice-blessed  chance  she  came  to  be 
The  star  that  fixed  my  life's  uncertain  course, 
Were  briefly  told: — The  kindly,  keen-eyed  friend 
Whose  ready  skill  to  read  the  cause  of  things 
Beneath  their  seeming,  came  thro'  many  years 
Of  ceaseless  work  among  his  suffering  kind, 
Discerned  my  need  and  sent  me  Sosur  Marie. 

"A  nurse  for  you."    So  said  the  kind,  keen  eyes 
When  first  they  saw  my  languid  look  infold 
The  restful  garb  and  quiet,  tender  face. 
No  more  it  seemed  a  thing  to  question  then, 
To  my  sick  heart  and  thought-refusing  brain, 
Than  if  he'd  shut  a  rose,  dew-kissed,  within 
My  helpless  hand  and  said,  "  a  flower  for  you." 

1 


How  many  days  and  nights  she  patient  watched 
Within  that  darkened  room,  I  never  knew ; 
For  memory  dates  from  that  fair  morning  when 
Like  one  new-born,  I  woke  to  know  and  feel 
The  something  more  that  marked  the  watcher  there 
From  those  gray  shapes  that  peopled  all  my  dreams. 

How  soft  she  moved  with  that  sure  poise  and  grace 
No  art  can  teach  but  only  consciousness 
Of  having  found  the  mission  and  the  place 
By  Heaven  intended.     So  the  lily  moves 
On  slender,  swaying  stem  her  regal  head, 
Each  undulating  motion : — saying : — "  See 
How  beautiful  a  thing  it  is  to  be ! 
O  gracious  moment  that  conceived  it  meet 
That  I  should  grow  and  just  be  fair  and  sweet!  " 

When  from  that  haunted,  grief -englamoured  room 
First  ventured  I  into  the  great  clean  world, — 
My  world  of  arching  skies  and  sweet  new  air — 
'Twere  hard  to  tell  if  most  I  joyed  or  grieved. 

Thro'  all  the  long,  slow,  convalescing  days 
Conspired  the  gracious  ministrants  of  health — 
The  tempered  air,  the  smiling  April  sun, 
The  happy  birds,  the  little  growing  things 
To  lure  the  soul  back  to  its  cage  again, 
And  Soeur  Marie's  low  voice  and  gentle  touch 

2 


Seemed  but  a  chord  the  more  in  that  full  theme, 
The  jubilate  of  the  waking  spring. 

And  ah!  the  deep,  sweet  joy  to  feel  again 
That  boundless  heart — the  mighty  mother  heart 
That  knows  no  change,  still  beating  warm  and  true ; 
Within  her  tireless  arms  to  lie  at  rest, 
A  child  once  more ;  to  be  again  caressed 
After  long  parting; — were  that  not  joy? — and  yet, 
Do  hearts  'neath  mother-kisses  straight  forget 
All  tears  and  aches,  or  but  the  keener  sense 
By  contrast  with  her  touch  the  bleeding  wounds 
Fresh  stabbed  by  hands  less  gentle? 

Lethean-sweet 

The  peace  and  rest  of  those  long  dreamful  days 
To  my  worn  spirit.     One  by  one  the  keys 
That  grief  had  worn  to  wearying  dissonance, 
Regained  their  rightful  tones.     My  lyric  soul 
Awoke  to  feel  once  more  its  myriad  strings 
A  nearing  subtle,  full,  symphonious  touch 
With  nature's  music.     But  as  daily  grew 
The  harmony  more  perfect,  so  increased 
The  one  o'er-strained  chord's  discrepant  sound, 
.Grown  thrice  discordant  where  would  else  abound 
Fine  consonance  and  peace  inviolate. 

What  taught  the  heart  that  beat  so  evenly 
Beneath  that  soft  gray  garb,  to  feel  the  hurt 

3 


Deep  hidden  in  another,  or  to  trace 
With  such  un-erring  swiftness  to  the  cause, 
I  could  not  then  divine ;  so  when  my  nurse 
Let  fall  one  day  the  volume  from  her  hands 
And  clasping  mine,  at  once  began  to  speak 
As  she  had  read  more  clearly  in  my  look 
My  inmost  soul  than  from  the  printed  book 
The  author's  thought,  in  my  first  great  surprise 
I  turned  in  half  resentment  from  her  eyes. 

But  not  like  others  was  my  Soeur  Marie, 
And  stooping  o'er  me  as  an  angel  might 
She  gently  whispered,  "  Child,  I  know  your  pain ; 
May  I  not  know  the  hidden  cause  as  well? 

Forgive,  if  too  abruptly  thus  aside 
I  thrust  the  veil  so  closely  drawn  to  hide 
Your  aching  wound ;  'tis  but  that  I  may  find 
Some  means  of  swifter  healing,  that  so  keen 
I  make  the  hurt. — Look  in  my  eyes,  dear  soul, 
And  read  if  aught  has  moved  me  thus  to  speak 
All  uninvited,  save  the  tender  throb 
Of  woman's  love  to  woman. — Do  not  fear 
To  let  poor  nature  have  her  way ;  outpour 
As  freely  all  your  pent-up  pain  as  though 
Your  heart  alone  were  listener.     Dear  one,  know 
The  power  to  read  your  suffering  thus  doth  prove 
*   My  right  divine  to  share  it, — right  of  love." 

4 


What  magic  lingered  in  her  simple  words 
I  cannot  say ;  but  this  I  know,  they  wrought 
A  mighty  change  within:  up-rose  the  flood 
Of  stormy  feeling: — barriers  builded  strong 
Of  stern  reserve  on  piers  of  granite  pride 
Were  swept  away.     Upon  that  gentle  breast 
I  bowed  my  head  and  let  the  hot  tears  flow. 
By  tender  words  and  tactful  questioning 
She  won  my  halting,  still-reluctant  tongue 
To  freer  speech  until  at  last  was  told 
The  bitter  story  of  my  loss  and  wrong. 
Thrice  bitter  from  such  wretched  commonness 
As  bars  its  right  of  repetition  here. 

A  battle  lost; — an  upright  nature  lured 
From  honor  and  from  love; — a  ruined  home;- 
A  broken  heart ; — a  wife's  unswerving  faith 
Dragged  in  the  dust.     Such  scorious  elements 
Have  based  most  oft  that  unheroic  tale, 
A  woman's  story,  since  the  world  begun. 
Who  knows  not  all  the  sequel  ere  is  done 
The  dull  prelude?     Yet  nothing  common-place 
In  its  recital  found  my  Soaur  Marie. 
My  watchful  pride,  alert  to  guard  my  hurt 
From  prying,  or  from  merely  pitying  eyes, 
Detected  naught  in  her  fair,  speaking  face 
But  sweet  compassion — that  fine  sympathy 

5 


A  lofty  soul  feels  for  another  soul 
Held  of  itself  a  part. 

Her  clasping  hands 
In  silent  eloquence,  attested  oft 

How  well  she  guessed  what  shafts  but  slightly  pierced 
Which  deepest  sunk,  and  which  had  left  behind 
The  subtlest  poison.     While  she  listened  so 
It  almost  seemed  her  own  had  been  the  hurt 
Instead  of  mine. 

I  can  recall  no  word 

She  spoke  in  comfort  or  in  counsel  then ; 
But  when  the  days  in  passing  so  had  made 
Familiar  this  new  sharing  of  my  grief 
That  I  no  longer  shrank  from  open  speech, 
She  turned  one  day,  and  in  that  low-keyed  voice 
That  made  her  converse  seem  no  less  a  part 
Of  nature's  music  than  the  tender  sighs 
Soft  breathed  above  us  thro'  the  wind-kissed  pines, 
She  questioned  thus : — "  If  it  be  not  too  great 
Presumption  on  the  part  of  one  who  comes 
With  but  a  recent  claim  upon  your  trust, 
May  I  old  friendship's  right  so  far  usurp 
To  ask  you  somewhat  of  your  future  plans  ?  " 

A  moment  I  was  dumb,  so  strange  to  me 
Her  question  seemed,  and  then  I  made  reply : 
"  I  have  no  plans.    'Tis  only  those  who  hold 
6 


Some  purpose  dear  who  motive  find  for  plans. 
There  are,  I  know,  some  natures  so  endowed 
With  self -igniting,  deathless  elements, 
That  disappointment  only  seems  to  serve 
As  fuel  to  their  hope.     Not  so  with  mine : 
I  staked  my  all  and  lost.     Henceforth  for  me 
To  live,  is  to  endure  as  best  I  may 
The  common  lot,  but  not  to  hope  or  plan." 

A  silence  fell ;  in  dreary  retrospect 
I  gazed  adown  the  changeful,  stormy  years 
That  summed  my   past: — a  charred   and  blackened 

waste 
Where  straight  young  growths  with  leaf  and  bloom 

had  been 
Flame-swept  with  still  their  promise  undefined. 

O  bitter  moment  in  a  woman's  life 
That  brings  the  awful  willingness  to  blot 
From  memory  all  the  sacred  name  of  "  wife  " 
Evokes  of  joy,  if  so  may  be  forgot 
The  deathless  grief !     That  moment  came  to  me 
In  that  brief  silence; — was  its  passion  writ 
Upon  my  face?     Perchance,  for  Soeur  Marie 
Next  spoke  as  she  indeed  had  fathomed  it. 

"  Dear,  in  your  nature  lie,  thick-sown,  the  germs 
Of  strength  and  energy ;  no  accident 

7 


That  may  retard  the  growth,  can  sap  the  life 

Stored  up  within  them.     You  are  one  of  those 

Who,  thro'  a  long  ancestral  line  have  come 

To  rich  inheritance  of  heart  and  brain: 

One  rare  possession, — yours  by  truest  right 

Of  self -accretion, — that  fine,  flexile  will 

That  lends  itself  a  ready  instrument 

To  mighty  purposes,  renders  you  more  free 

Than  many  be  to  choose  and  shape  your  life. 

To  sit  in  passive,  dumb  endurance  thro' 

The  years  that  stretch  from  now  to  listless  age, 

Were  wanton  waste  thro'  wilful  negligence 

Of  riches, — not  capriciously  bestowed 

By  partial  Providence, — but  garnered  up 

Atom  by  atom,  painfully  and  slow, 

Thro'  countless  lives  by  countless  millions  lived. 

You  think  my  words  too  earnest, — all  too  grave 
The  import  I  ascribe  to  one  small  life? 
O  could  you  know  the  depth  of  reverence 
And  awe  a  pure  and  richly  dowered  soul 
Can  stir  within  me,  rather  would  you  be 
Amazed  that  I  in  such  poor,  common  speech 
A  theme  so  sacred  dare  so  near  approach ! 

In  all  the  heights  and  depths  of  all  the  worlds 
Of  which  imagination  holds  conceit, 
Go  find  me  aught  whose  worth  and  majesty 

8 


Dwarf  not  beside  a  single  human  soul. 

What  else  so  vast  in  possibilities ; 

So  broad  to  grasp  creation's  mighty  plan; 

So  keen  to  search  its  subtlest  secrets  out ; 

So  deep  to  sound  the  purposes  that  be 

Forever  and  forever  fathomless? 

And  what  in  boundless  aspiration  soars 

So  high  to  touch  the  God-hood  it  adores? 

Say  not  that  any  words  these  lips  can  frame 
Too  earnest  be !     Would  that  the  gift  were  mine 
To  thrill  you  with  such  fervid  eloquence 
You  could  not  choose  but  let  your  thought  expand 
Beneath  its  glow,  till  lifting  it  should  soar 
Above  these  clouds  so  heavy  with  your  tears, 
And  in  the  bright  air  pulsing  with  the  warmth 
Of  God's  own  love  should  meet  the  holy  truth 
That  waits  the  recognition  of  your  soul." 

She  ceased,  and  in  her  pure,  up-lifted  face 
I  gazed  in  wonder,  so  transfigured  seemed 
Its  outlines.     Thro'  the  wide,  calm,  steadfast  eyes- 
All  luminous  with  feeling,  softly  streamed 
The  white  effulgence  from  the  altar  flame 
That  lit  the  inner  temple  of  her  soul. 
Was  it  this  light,  or  her  impassioned  words, 
Or  might  of  both  that  so  resistless  moved 
Upon  the  night  and  chaos  of  my  world? 

9 


A  heart  too  often  cheated  of  its  hope 
Is  prone  to  guard  full  jealously  the  door 
Where  promise  enters.     If  my  Soeur  Marie 
Had  sought,  by  wisest  words  to  conjure  forth 
The  ghosts  of  such  ambitions  and  desires 
As  wrought  me  such  disaster  in  their  death, 
She  must  have  failed ;  but  something  in  her  speech 
Struck  deeper  than  the  burnt-out  strata  where 
The  tender  germs  of  hope  had  blighted  been. 
Some  deep,  long-buried  world  of  consciousness 
Seemed  touched  and  quickened  till  in  dim  array 
Came  thronging  forth  the  pictures  it  had  stored 
Of  purer  aspirations,  fairer  hopes 
Than  life  as  I  had  known  it,  fostered  faith 
To  realize  and  mold  to  living  forms. 

I  could  not  voice  at  once  the  surging  thoughts 
That  swept  my  being  as  a  tidal  wave 
Rising  from  memory's  sea ;  but  when  the  ebb 
That  follows  fast  upon  the  mightiest  flow 
Had  left  me  free  to  scan  the  fresh-laved  shore, 
I  found  strange  creatures, — bits  of  weed,  and  shells 
That  sang  a  sad  sea-music  to  my  ear: — 
The  songs  of  half-remembered  long-agos. 

Wild  longings  woke,  and  restless  questionings 
Pressed  upward  to  my  lips,  where  doubtful  words 
Some  hint  of  their  significance  conveyed 

10 


To  Soeur  Marie.     She  gave  them  clearer  form 
And    force   more   definite   in    speech   somewhat   like 
this  :— 

"  Is  it  so  new,  this  thought  that  every  soul, 
However  meanly  dowered,  or  richly  graced, 
Is  but  the  growth  of  ages : — that  we  come 
Into  the  world  or  well  or  ill  equipped 
According  to  our  merit,  and  the  stage 
Of  progress  that  as  conscious  beings  we 
Have  reached  in  common  with  the  growing  race? 

I  know  how  strange  at  first  this  doctrine  falls 
On  ears  accustomed  to  those  rock-walled  creeds 
Whose  thund'rous  booms  alarm  the  fleets  of  reason. 

From  childhood  we  unthinkingly  accept 
The  common  teaching  that  each  new-born  soul 
Comes  as  a  fresh  creation  from  God's  hand; 
Nor  dare  to  question  why  the  handiwork 
Is  laid  aside  in  so  unfinished  form, 
Or  why  such  crude  conceptions  shadow  forth 
To  travesty  divine  imagination. 

Between  perverted  reverence  that  fears, 
And  indolence  that  shirks  the  fullest  use 
Of  human  rights,  we  crush  the  insistent  "  Why  " 
That  seeks  to  force  an  entrance  for  the  light 
Of  brave  research  that  would  solution  find 
For  many  a  painful  riddle  in  our  life. 

11 


We  speak  of  God  as  Justice,  Truth  and  Love, 
Nor  heed  the  bitter  facts  of  every-day 
That  rise  in  stern  dispute.    We  see  around 
Us  want  and  woe  and  jealousy  and  strife 
And  hate  and  fear  and  hardened  selfishness, — 
Off-sprung  from  inequalities  that  we 
Affect  a  resignation  to  accept 
As  part  and  purpose  of  an  all-wise  plan. 

Yet  who  that  truly  thinks,  or  fearless  looks 
At  life  in  all  its  aspects,  can  discern 
Thro'  light  of  human  love  and  justice,  aught 
To  draw  his  worship  toward  a  Being  who 
Has  so  created  and  so  fixed  by  law 
Each  soul  and  its  conditions  that  to  strive 
Were  worse  than  vain  ?    'Twould  better  far  accord 
With  what  our  inmost  hearts  can  recognize 
Of  love  and  justice,  to  believe  that  He 
Who  gives  us  being,  gives  us  equal  chance 
To  climb  by   divers  upward-leading  ways — 
That  each  may  choose  according  to  his  will — 
To  that  attainment  and  that  perfect  rest 
The  spirit  longs  for.     As  each  human  soul 
From  every  other  differs,  so  no  two 
The  self-same  path  shall  choose:  neither  shall  seek 
The  self-same  goal.     Yet  each  alike  shall  find 
Complete  fulfilment  of  his  true  desire, — 
See  God  indeed,  and  know  that  He  is  good !  " 

12 


Her  words  that  found  their  joyous  echo  in 
My  heart  of  hearts,  awoke  besides  such  doubts 
As  had  their  root  in  long- familiar  creeds ; — 
Not  all  unquestioned  neither  yet  denied. 
So  thus  I  asked : — "  How  can  you  reconcile 
This  faith  in  God's  impartial  love  that  gives 
An  equal  chance  to  all,  with  that  so  far 
From  equal  distribution  of  good  gifts 
We  see  on  every  side?    How  comes  it  that 
These  inequalities  and  wrongs  exist 
To  work  such  woe  ?  " 

She  smiled,  then  gently  answered: 
"  Let  us  turn  a  page  in  nature's  book,  for  there, 
Unspoiled  by  poor  translation,  we  may  read 
God's  freshly  written  text.    One  summer  day 
I  climbed  a  richly  wooded  peak  that  rose 
In  fair  New  England's  range ;  the  forest  stood 
In  all  its  native  grandeur  of  wild  growth 
Untouched  by  woodsman's  craft;  and  high  and  wide, 
So  leaf-form,  tint  and  texture  all  were  lost 
In  deep,  o'er-shadowing  gloom,  the  towering  crowns 
Were  proudly  reared.    Yet  marked  I  how  the  trunks 
Of  Beeches,  Poplars,  Maples,  even  Oaks, 
For  generations  striving  toward  the  sky, 
Had  gained  far  less  in  girth  than  two  decades 
Of  growth  in  sunny  freedom  should  achieve. 

I  marvelled  with  a  sense  of  keenest  pain 
13 


To  see  these  scions  of  a  kingly  race 

So  puny  and  so  starved ;  but  wandering  on 

I  noted  here  and  there  a  giant  stem 

Wrapped  in  its  swarthy,  tattered  cloak  of  tan, — 

The  very  type  of  rough  and  savage  king. 

At  first  I  failed  to  guess  the  monarch's  name 
So  loftily  he  bore  his  shaggy  head 
Amid  the  sombre  shade;  but  when  anon 
An  unkempt  lock,  down  drooping  from  the  rest, 
Betrayed  him  of  the  Hemlock's  gypsy  race, 
I  smiled  and  no  more  wondered  at  the  small- 
Girthed  oaks  and  puny  maples.     Here  the  wild, 
Free  Ishmael  of  the  wood  had  nurture  found 
Best  suited  to  his  needs,  and  growing  strong 
And  lusty  in  his  youth,  had  far  outstripped 
And  over-topped  the  young  patricians  who 
In  weakliness  had  quailed  beneath  his  frown. 

This  picture  I  have  oft  recalled  and  oft 
Have  wondered  by  what  chance  or  what  design 
Of  Nature's  fickle  will,  this  upstart  king 
Had  gained  his  despot  sway.     The  sources  whence 
He  drew  his  sustenance,  I  recognized 
To  be  less  deep  than  those  the  gentler  race 
Stretched  finer  souls  to  feed  from.    Him,  I  knew 
Heredity's  great  law  would  yet  compel 
To  yield  his  might-won  throne,  and  then  methought, 

14 


Perchance  when  come  the  true  and  rightful  heirs 
Into  their  own,  that  haply  they  shall  find 
New  source  of  strength  and  richer  elements 
Of  life  because  of  this  usurper's  reign. 

The  fancy  pleased  me  and  I  loved  to  think 
'Twas  all  in  line  of  purpose  subtly  planned 
By  that  wise  planner,  Nature,  whose  fixed  law 
Gives  justice  to  her  children.     Low  and  high, 
Strong,  weak,  bad,  good,  the  perfect  and  the  crude, — 
Each  has  its  turn:  each  sees  its  one  glad  day 
Of  triumph  and  of  conquest:  knows  for  once 
The  fulness  of  its  power,  then  dies  content. 

Nor  is  this  all: — beneath  the  outward  show 
Of  love  impartial,  lies  a  deeper  law 
Of  higher  justice  based  on  larger  love: 
For  when  to  satisfy  the  righteous  claim 
Upon  her  motherhood,  wise  nature  gives 
To  those  short-lived,  crude,  coarse,  and  selfish  things 
She  brings  to  being,  all  their  greed  will  take, 
'Tis  not  to  rob  her  dearer  children,  whom 
She  destines  for  a  broader,  richer  life 
And  higher  purpose.     That  were  never  love, 
And  nature  is  most  loving  and  most  wise : 
For  while  the  claim  of  each  she  satisfies, 
She  also  sees  that  each  in  living  out 
To  full  fruition  all  its  selfish  greed 

15 


Demands  of  being,  so  shall  minister 
All  unawares,  to  other  lives,  and  yield 
At  last  in  full  content  its  store  of  will — 
Intensified  and  focused  by  self-love — 
To  energize  and  aid  some  higher  life. 

In  great  creation's  fine  economy 
Naught  serves  itself  alone.    The  seeming  foul 
Gives  fuller  life  and  beauty  to  the  fair: 
Evil  is  good  disguised :  good  knows  no  ultimate ; 
To-day's  perfection  hints  to-morrow's  dream 
Of  loftier  ideals.    But  my  theme  I  fear 
Has  lured  me  further  than  I  meant  to  stray 
Into  that  realm — to  me  most  dear  and  real- — 
Where  bright  imagination  sits  supreme, 
Fair  queen  and  regal  mistress  of  the  mind. 

I  know  you  see  my  fancy's  trend  and  draw 
From  my  most  free  translation  vastly  more 
Than  lends  itself  to  fixed  forms  of  speech. 
Nor  need  I  point  for  you  the  analogue : — 
As  nature  with  her  own,  so  even  He, 
The  loving  power  she  mirrors,  deals  with  His. 
And  nothing  He  has  fashioned  can  be  lost, 
Forgotten,  or  neglected:  neither  let 
To  taste  that  bitter,  heart-corroding  draught 
We  term  injustice. 

16 


When  the  time  shall  come 
For  the  last  trial  at  those  composite  sums 
We  call  our  lives,  and  we  are  smiling  shown 
The  method  of  their  working,  and  the  way 
We  missed  the  rule  and  strangely  overlooked 
Some  plain,  prime  factors :  when  for  us  is  found 
The  final  answer,  and  with  other  sums 
Our  own  we  shall  compare,  to  find  that  none 
Than  ours  was  easier  of  solution:  none  more  full, 
Complete  and  perfect  in  its  last  result; 
Then  shall  we  know  that  that  soul-chilling  thing 
We  named  "  injustice  "  nowhere  findeth  place 
In  the  true  plan.    Born  of  our  mortal  loves, 
Ignorance  and  passions,  it  holds  no  elements 
Long  to  survive  death  of  the  mortal  in  us." 

A  curious  consciousness  of  some  unseen 
Subjective  self,  responding  ardently 
To  all  the  outlined  and  suggested  truths 
Her  words  conveyed,  possessed  me,  tho'  my  mind 
Quite  failed  to  clearly  grasp  their  larger  import. 

No  comment  seemed  at  once  appropriate, 
And  with  the  hope  indelibly  to  fix 
On  memory's  scroll  the  graphic  imagery 
Of  her  unstudied  speech,  I  silent  sat, 
Till  lengthening  shadows  warned  my  gentle  nurse 
That  my  too  brief,  blue-vaulted  day  was  ended. 


17 


Ere  April's  pledges  fairly  were  redeemed 
In  foliate  May,  my  fast  returning  strength 
Permitted  me  to  seek  the  scented  wood 
Whose  dim  cathedral  vistas  from  afar 
Had  long  allured.    Here  stood  the  patriarch  pines, 
Those  wise  high-priests  of  Nature,  set  to  guard 
Her  old  alchemic  rites,  and  tirelessly 
To  chant  her  changeless  hymns  of  incantation. 

Beneath  their  outstretched,  peace-invoking  hands 
For  hours  together,  Soeur  Marie  and  I 
Roamed  in  our  ever-fascinating  quest 
Of  coyly-hiding,  thickly-clustering  vines 
All  blossom-gemmed,  Spring's  sweetest  harbinger, 
And  then  in  some  moss-cushioned,  sunny  nook 
We'd  sit  for  quiet  converse,  while  we  culled 
Our  fragrant  treasure  over. 

Thus  apart 

From  all  the  pettiness  of  indoor  life 
And  narrowing  conventions,  I  could  come 
Somewhat  in  touch  with  that  large  restfulness 
That  so  enhanced  the  ever-varying  charm 
And  strong  attractiveness  that  Soeur  Marie's 
Whole  presence  breathed.    This  restfulness  I  grew, 
By  my  slow  processes  to  recognize 
As  largely  due  to  her  rare,  subtle,  keen, 
Profoundly  mystic  sympathy  with  nature. 
And  yet  I  know  there  was  a  something  else— 

18 


A  something  not  so  readily  explained 

In  her  assured  serenity  and  poise. 

And  powerfully  this  subtle  something  drew 

And  held  my  interest,  so  intangible 

And  all-elusive  was  it  to  my  mind's 

Most  keen  pursuit;  nor  would  it  let  me  rest 

For  fast-increasing  wish  to  analyze 

And  dear-define  it. 

More  and  more  each  day 
Her  conversation  evidenced  a  broad, 
Unique  experience  of  what  I  named — 
For  lack  of  other  term — "  religious  life  " ; 
And  yet  so  altogether  genuine  was  she, 
So  obviously  original  her  every  phrase 
And  turn  of  speech,  even  her  mode  of  thought 
And  line  of  argument,  that  much  was  I  perplexed 
To  reconcile  her  fresh,  sweet  sentiments 
And  wholesome  ethics,  with  my  preconceit — 
Not  flattering — as  touching  on  the  views 
And  canting  habit  of  religious  zealots. 

I  tried  to  think  my  ignorance  of  the  ways 
And  faiths  of  all  recluses  so  had  lent 
This  halo  of  vague  mystery  I  felt 
Surrounding  Sceur  Marie:  and  so  dismissed 
The  oft-recurring  puzzle;  nor  perceived 
What  time  it  fast  was  ripening  to  solution. 

19 


My  undisguised  pleasure  in  her  speech, 
What-e'er  the  time  or  subject,  naturally 
Induced  from  her  a  happy  unrestraint 
And  frankness  of  expression,  thro'  which  I 
Was  free  to  scan  at  will  her  inner  life, 
While  consciousness  of  spiritual  poverty 
On  my  own  part,  before  her  opulence 
Most  often  kept  me  silent. 

But  one  day 

Her  more  than  common  warmth  and  unreserve 
So  startled  me, — discovering  as  it  did 
Apparent  firm  persuasion  on  her  part 
Of  my  complete  response  and  sympathy, — 
That  I  began  to  feel  this  silentness 
Had  been  unpardonable.   A  tingling  sense 
Of  inward  shame  at  my  unworthiness, 
And  deep  chagrin  that  she  should  so  mistake 
My  sentiments,  wrought  upon  me.     Soeur  Marie 
Might  even  think  that  she  had  found  a  firm 
True  proselyte,  or — barring  this, — at  least 
A  faithful  sympathizer,  predisposed 
To  favor  her  peculiar  creed  or  order. 

A  strong  revolt  from  this  so  likely  chance 
Of  flagrant  misconception,  plus  the  sense 
Of  all  the  depths  and  distances  that  yawned 
Impassable  between  us,  quickened  me 

20 


To  hasty  protest,  and  inadvertently 

Compelled  the  breach  of  that  cold  reticence 

That  held  me  mute  whenever  spiritual 

And  personal  themes  approached  consociation. 

An  opportune  remark  from  her,  at  length 

Gave  me  the  wished  for  opening,  and  then 

I  stood  not  on  the  order  of  my  speech: — 

"  But  Soeur  Marie,  the  wisdom  of  your  words — 

Tho'  plainly  I  perceive  for  such  as  you, 

Yet  are  they  not  entirely  wise  for  me. 

By  widely  different  worlds  we  have  been  shaped, — 

Our  natures  tuned  to  wholly  different  keys. 

Had  I  in  early  life  been  taught  as  you, — 

Had  I  absorbed  the  creed  of  selflessness 

And  sweet  humility:  been  set  apart 

For  special  service:  learned  the  blessedness 

Of  pure — unselfish  striving  for  the  good: — 

In  short  had  education  placed  a  goal 

For  me  like  that  which  upward  lures  your  soul, 

And  all  such  souls  as  consecrate  themselves 

Like  you  in  early  youth,  it  might  not  be 

Impossible  that  there  is  that  within 

My  inmost  nature  that  should  make  of  me 

A  woman  who  like  you  could  live  the  life 

And  joy  in  living. 

But  think  how  different 

Have  been  my  aims,  my  hopes  and  purposes. 

21 


To  bring  the  fragments  of  a  nature  wrecked 
Upon  the  stormy  sea  of  worldliness, 
And  lay  upon  that  holy  altar  where 
Naught  but  the  first  and  best  should  offered  be, 
Were  veriest  sacrilege.     Ah!  Soeur  Marie, 
I  feel  the  fulness  of  your  sympathy 
And  bless  you  for  it.     Still  I  can  but  know 
That  there  are  chapters  in  my  shipwrecked  life 
You  can  but  guess  at.     Shielded  by  your  name 
And  order,  you  perforce  have  haply  missed 
Experience  which  alone  can  fully  teach 
How  hearts  can  feel  and  how  completely  break. 
You  think  that  I  can  find  new  ideals,  hopes, 
To  build  myself  around. — Ah!  had  you  known 
In  all  your  gentle  life  a  love  and  loss 
Like    mine,    sweet    friend,    no    need    were    now    to- 
frame 

In  words  to  you  the  bitter  hopeless  truth — 
My  soul  has  lost  the  power  to  strive  again." 

In  simple  honesty  I  longed  to  prove 
What  soon  or  late  my  friend  was  doomed  to  find» 
That  all  her  loving  efforts  had  been  vain. 
And  in  the  earnestness  of  my  desire 
To  make  myself  and  my  position  clear, 
I  grew  oblivious  of  Soeur  Marie 
And  shaped  my  words  to  fit  the  saintly  nun. 


Her  utter  stillness  and  her  unresponse 
To  my  long  speech  recalled  me  to  myself, 
When  deep  contrition  seized  me;  for  the  face, 
Always  so  calm  and  pure,  was  shadowed  o'er 
With  such  a  look  as  moved  me  swift  to  say : — 
"  Have  I  so  hurt  you?     Pardon,  Sreur  Marie! " 

She  took  my  proffered  hands  and  mutely  bent 
Her  face  above  them,  while  I  remorseful  sat 
Waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

"  Dear  heart,"  at  last  she  said, 
"  No  need  is  there  to  crave  or  grant  excuse. 
'Twas  not  your  words  that  hurt,  but  memories 
Long  buried,  that  have  thrilled  to  life  again 
And  quivering  agony. 

I  see  that  you, 

Mis-led  by  my  vocation,  garb  and  name, 
Have  read  me  and  my  motives  all  amiss. 

You  asked  me  nothing  of  my  past,  and  I 
Presumed  that  you  had  rightly  guessed  or  heard 
Some  knowledge  of  my  order.     This  gray  garb 
Marks  me  not  one  of  that  great  sisterhood 
Who  count  themselves  most  blest  and  nearest  Christ 
When    closest    shut    from    Christ's    great    suffering 

world. 

With  no  religious  order,  faith,  or  creed 
Am  I  identified:  nor  am  I  bound 

23 


By  any  code  that  righteous  men  have  fixed 
As  needful  hedge  for  most  of  mortal  kind. 

In  life's  great  school  of  human  joy  and  pain 
Long  years  ago  I  took  my  full  degree. 
I  learned  that  good  and  evil,  right  and  wrong, 
Joy,  sorrow,  peace  and  pain,  are  only  names 
For  such  so  infinitely  varied  states 
As  each  may  only  enter  for  himself 
And  for  himself  define.     In  me  was  fought 
That  battle  where  the  spirit  meets  its  last, 
Worst  enemy, — the  Self, — and  conquering 
Or  conquered,  evermore  must  justly  know 
Its  weakness  or  its  strength.    The  victory 
So  hardly  won  and  at  such  frightful  cost 
That  long  the  doubt  remained  if  victory 
It  really  were, — or  only  truce  perforce, — 
Left  my  spent  spirit  sorrowing  in  the  dust, 
All  shorn  of  victor's  pride. 

Ah !  no  one — none 

•"  Hath  knowledge  how  much  blood  it  costs !  "  and 
Was  mercifully  dazed,  nor  fully  woke 
To  the  keen  sense  of  all  my  fearful  loss 
In  that  fierce  struggle,  till  within  my  soul 
Had  dawned  full  knowledge  of  my  priceless  gain. 

I  went  into  the  contest  fettered,  bound : — 
The  brand  of  many  a  coward  master  on  me. 

24 


Tradition,  fear,  love  of  the  world's  dear  praise, 
Distrust  of  my  own  powers  and  doubt  of  God's, 
All  lashed  my  soul  and  mocked  its  claims  to  freedom. 
And  crudest  of  all  that  crippled  me, — 
Dragging  so  at  my  heart  strings, — was  the  strong, 
Deep-rooted  love  for  the  dear  foe  I  challenged. 

Not  mine,  ah  no !  not  mine, — such  victory 
As  there  was  gained!    For  when  my  weak  heart  fal- 
tered, 

And  must  straightway  have  yielded,  lo !  an  arm 
That  never  fails  the  valiant  who  succumbs 
Not  till  he  must,  was  stretched  in  my  defence. 

When  next  we  met, — my  king  of  foes  and  all 
That  horde  that  once  through  him  had  fettered  me, 
I  fearless  faced  them,  knowing  I  was  free. — 

And  now  unshackled  by  the  iron  law 
Of  the  world's  right,  I  take  the  one  straight  way 
My  feet  must  follow, — be  it  rough  or  smooth 
Or  lead  where-e'er  it  may, — so  I  but  see 
The  light  ahead  that  leads  my  spirit  on 
To  larger  life  and  wisdom. 

They  who  hold 

Such  freedom  dangerous,  and  strive  to  map 
Such  various  roads  as  all  may  safely  walk 
Nor  go  amiss,  are  right  and  wise: — 'tis  true 

25 


That  many — mayhap  all — at  some  time  need 

Such  guidance  and  restriction  as  the  learned 

In  moral  lore  can  offer  and  enforce. 

But  here  and  there  among  the  multitude 

Some  soul,  full  sharply  tried  because  full  strong 

To  stand  the  test,  is  by  such  trial  freed 

From  bondage  to  the  common  law.     To  such, 

The  codes  that  one  time  proved  such  needful  props, 

Become  grave  obstacles  to  further  growth: 

How  then  to  pass  these  hurtful  bounds  and  yet 
Hold  fixed  and  true  to  each  unwritten  law 
They  sharp  define,  is  that  grave  question  which 
Such  souls  must  face  and  solve  if  they  would  climb 
The  eternal  heights  of  peace. 

Dear,    strong,    brave    woman, — loving,    constant, 

true, — 

Unwittingly  your  soul  has  borne  the  test 
Of  pain's  baptismal  fires.     You  think  the  flames 
That  scorched  so  deep  have  blasted  root  and  germ 
Past  hope  of  resurrection.    'Tis  not  so. 
The  happy  garden  of  your  girlish  dreams, 
So  full  of  promise  and  fresh  budding  hopes, 
Is  swept  away,  I  grant,  and  nevermore 
On  earth  shall  grow  its  like  for  you  again. 

But  tell  me,  dear, — nor  think  I  ask  to  pain, — 
Nor  yet  to  judge  as  if  I  had  discerned 

26 


Some  fault  of  nature  in  you, — 'tis  as  if 
My  very  self  I  questioned, — tell  me  then 
If  in  that  garden  there  had  nothing  grown 
Beyond  your  strength  to  weed :  that  you  now  feel 
Were  well  destroyed.     Could  you  this  moment  pray 
To  have  the  whole  restored?    Free  now  to  choose, 
Would  you  have  back  unchanged  in  anything 
Your  vanished  world?     Your   eyes   have  answered 

me. 

That  darkening  shade  of  pain  and  lurking  fear 
Tells  all  I  need  to  know. 

And  yet  for  me 

Who  hold  my  past, — e'en  all  my  saddest  past — 
A  faithful  counsellor,  trusty  guide  and  friend 
To  lead  me  thro'  such  shadow-misted  ways 
As  mark  my  untried  future,  it  would  seem 
Strange  mockery  indeed  to  bid  you  turn 
From  your  dead  world  and  hasten  to  forget. 

Forgotten  merely,  pain's  residium 
Will  linger  and  corrode  beneath  the  scar 
That  marks  the  outward  healing ;  but  if  held 
In  safe  solution  by  humility 
And  wise  submission,  Time's  sure  alchemy 
Will  so  transmute  pain's  crudest  elements 
That  only  in  their  purest  ultimate, 
Beneficient  and  healing,  shall  they  rise 
To  mingle  with  the  spirit." 

27    • 


The  subtle,  sweet, 

Compelling  dominant,  that  ever  set 
Some  new  chord  vibrant  in  me,  thrilling  it 
To  yearning,  vague,  elusive,  wavering  touch 
With  something  dear  and  distant,  like  the  dim, 
Far,  half-remembered  music  of  a  dream, 
Was  in  her  accents.     And  from  somewhere  'neath 
The  glacier-hardened  crust  where  stonily 
Had  lain  my  heart,  there  leapt  a  sudden  flame. 

Whence  came  this  rare  white  soul  of  womanhood 
I  knew  as  Soeur  Marie  ?    Whence  all  her  wisdom  ? 
By  what  privilege,  vouchsafed  to  her  beyond 
The  common  right  of  mortals,  had  she  gained 
This  certainty  of  knowledge,  this  calm  peace, 
This  strength,  this  poise,  this  saint's  courageousness. 
That  all  my  soul  with  sudden  passion  envied? 

The  questions  that  I  framed  gave  little  hint 
Of  the  fierce,  strong,  imperious  demand 
For  fuller  knowledge  of  her  that  this  slight 
Revealment  of  herself  had  roused  within  me. 

"  How  is  it  then,"  I  queried,  "  that  you  wear 
This  nun's  attire,  and  sacrifice  your  life 
To  gentle  service,  seeking  no  return 
For  all  you  give  in  lavish  tenderness 
Of  your  heart's  best,  thro'  these  dear  angel  hands? — 
Sweet  Sister  of  Compassion  that  you  are! 

28 


With  gifts  like  yours,  the  unattainable 
Of  this  world's  goals  could  scarce  exist,  and  yet 
You  seem  indifferent,  or  wholly  free 
From  worldly  aims.    Why  are  your  hopes  and  dreams 
So  lifted  and  remote  from  all  that  stirs 
The  common  heart  and  wakes  it  to  ambition? 

Since  you  disclaim  the  cloister  I  confess 
Myself  perplexed  indeed,  concerning  you. 
Some  spiritual  order  sometime,  surely,  must 
Have  nurtured  you,  else  how  come  you  to  be 
Your  dear  peculiar  self, — and  how  called  Soeur 
Marie?" 

"A  faith  and  order  spiritual  indeed, 
Though  not  religious, — in  the  straightened  sense 
Ecclesiastical, — I  do  acknowledge. 
'Tis  true  they  call  me  '  Soeur,'  and  many  led 
By  that,  my  mission,  and  this  gray  attire 
To  hasty  inference,  conclude  that '  nun ' 
Is  my  appropriate  title.    Ne'er-the-less 
The  word's  a  sobriquet  and  hardly  fitting. 

You  must  have  marked  how  different  is  my  garb 
From  that  made  so  familiar  to  your  eyes 
By  pale  recluses,  or  those  gentle  Soeurs 
De  Merci,  who  like  shadowy  spirits  strayed 

29 


From  some  dead  planet,  take  their  silent  way 
Among  us,  yet  not  of  us. 

Be  it  far 

From  my  sincere  intention  to  suggest 
Comparisons  invidious;  the  pure 
Devoted,  patient  lives  and  countless  deeds 
Of  sacrifice  and  noiseless  charity 
That  stand  accounted,  to  that  faithful  band 
Commands  from  me  respect  and  reverence 
Most  genuine  and  deep.    And,  lest  fuller  light 
Upon  their  faith  and  principles  might  shame 
A  present  judgment,  let  me  not  presume 
To  criticise  what  certainly  would  seem 
But  slavish  bending  to  a  priestly  rule 
And  superstitious  custom  in  their  rites, 
And  curious  grave-like  vestments. 

Be  all  that 

However  as  it  may,  it  not  concerns 
My  present  subject  save  as  it  may  serve 
To  emphasize  some  points  of  difference 
Between  them  and  my  order.     Not  for  us 
The  pale  disfiguring  band  that  straightly  hides 
The  noblest  feature  of  the  human  face ; — 
That  feature  where,  if  anywhere,  God  stamps 
The  impress  of  His  thought. — Neither  the  close- 
Wound  curve-concealing  wimple,  nor  the  veil 
Do  we  affect,  but  leave  each  happiest  grace 


Of  form  and  feature  beautiful  and  free 
'   As  nature  modelled  it.    No  sympathy 
Have  we  with  those  harsh  creeds  whose  tenets  teach 
The  beauty  of  holiness  but  quite  forget 
The  holiness  of  beauty.     We  believe 
Omniscience  was  Omniscient  still,  e'en  when 
It  fashioned  woman;  so  in  reverence  hold 
His  every  gift  a  dear  and  sacred  trust, 
And  seek  in  love  and  gratitude  to  know 
How  we  may  best  employ  it  to  perfect 
His  purpose  in  us. 

Since  gracious  lines  and  curves 
And  tender  tints,  that  rest  and  satisfy 
The  heart's  dumb  ache  for  beauty,  are  no  less 
His  holy  handiwork  when  they  enshrine 
A  human  soul,  than  when  they're  chaliced  round 
The  lily's  censer,  we  esteem  it  part 
Of  perfect  service  to  keep  beautiful 
And  pure,  his  temple  wherein  for  the  day 
We  call  a  life,  at  least,  we're  doomed  to  worship. — 
Nay — not  doomed, — permitted  rather,  for  'tis  fair 
And  good  to  dwell  in, — full  of  music  too, — 
Save  we  ourselves  wake  discord  in  its  echoes. 

We  must  be  clothed,  and  reasons  practical 
And  very  far  removed  from  sentiment 
Or. thoughts  fanatic,  constrained  us  to  adopt 

31 


Some  quite  distinctive  dress.     First  it  protects; 

Next  simplifies  our  needs,  and  sets  us  free 

From  fashion's  thrall ;  and  last,  but  far  from  least 

Of  such  advantages  as  daily  use 

Confirms  for  this  soft  gray,  we  find  it  rests 

The  jaded  nerves  whose  need  necessitates 

Employ  of  many  an  art  to  soothe  and  strengthen." 

"And  forcibly  indeed  can  7  attest 

The  excellence  in  practice  of  that  last 

Consideration.    But  greatly  do  I  grudge 

This  interruption  and  sincerely  hope 

You  will  continue.     Somehow  you  have  roused 

An  interest  in  my  mind  more  eager  and  intense 

Than  words  can  evidence.    But  I  do  not  mean 

To  question  deeper  than  my  slender  claim 

To  special  favor  warrants ;  and  the  least 

Your  inclination  moves  you  to  disclose 

Shall  quite  suffice.     Still  if  the  privilege 

Extended  me  permits  it,  I  would  like 

To  venture  this  one  question: — What  consists 

Or  constitutes  the  body  corporate 

Of  this  alluring  dream  of  sisterhood 

That  scarcely  yet  seems  more  than  dream  to  me? 

Is  it  an  order  fixed  and  limited 

By  local  habitation  and  a  name? 

Strange  as  it  seems  no  doubt,  I'm  not  aware 
I  ever  heard  till  now  of  its  existence. 


Still  I  confess  that  scarce  another  mind 
Of  passable  attainments,  harbors  less 
Of  accurate  information  which  relates 
To  recluse  lives  and  orders,  than  my  own. 

When  first  I  saw  you,  in  the  indolence 
Of  mental  weariness  I  scarcely  thought 
Of  you  at  all ;  but  rested  in  the  warmth 
Your  presence  shed  much  as  the  leafless  stem 
Rests  in  the  subtile  aura  of  the  spring. 

Some  vague  association  lingering 
Behind  descriptions  I  had  sometime  read — 
But  quite  forgotten — of  the  good  gray  nuns, 
Sufficed  to  set  at  rest  such  flickerings 
Of  curious  interest  concerning  where 
To  place  you,  as  I  doubt  not  must  have  crossed 
My  languid  mind;  and  your  identity 
Once  settled  for  me,  nothing  subsequent 
Chanced  to  disturb  it." 

"And  far  indeed  from  an  wTicompliment 
Was  your  mistaken  inference,"  she  rejoined 
With  the  rare  smile  lighting  her  countenance, 
"  For  all  the  virtues  of  that  sisterhood 
I  do  revere  and  humbly  emulate. 
I  doubt  me  tho'  if  those  same  blessed  saints 
Were  equally  self-gratulate  to  know 

33 


That  such  a  hopeless  heretic  had  passed 
As  hailing  from  their  cloister.    Still  perhaps, 
On  second  thought,  their  very  life  would  lead 
To  juster  comprehension  of  the  faith 
And  motive  of  our  order  than  we  win 
From  many  a  liberal  (?)  worldling. 

But  let  me  not  neglect  your  pertinent 
And  no-wise  ill-timed  question: — which  in  view 
Of  the  pure  sentiments  that  prompted  it 
I'm  more  than  pleased  to  answer,  and  no  fear 
That  any  others  you  may  wish  to  ask 
Can  be  inapt  or  anything  but  welcome. 

A  habitation  and  a  name  as  well 
We  do  possess ;  but  still  are  over  young 
As  an  established  order  to  have  earned 
Such  marked  distinction  as  would  make  us  known 
Save  to  a  kindred  few.    And  since  we  find 
Seclusion  most  essential  to  sure  growth 
We  leave  for  those  who  value  it  such  fame 
As  readily  accrues  to  whoso  seeketh. 

The  title  that  we  bear  commemorates 
That  royal  woman  and  ill-fated  queen 
Whose  wrongs  bear  shameful  witness  to  the  codes 
That  stood  for  manliness  in  ancient  Persia. 

34 


Hail,  noble  queen!     Queen  always,  tho'  discrowned 
And  broken-hearted.     Honor  to  thy  name 
Who  bravely  bore  the  censure  of  thy  lord, 
And  such  humiliation  as  those  cold, 
Despotic,  scheming  diplomats  devised 
To  heap  upon  thee,  rather  than  concede 
Obedience  where  discourteous  command 
Proved  kingly  grace  and  manly  reverence  lacking ! 

Peerless  thou  art  forever  in  thy  lone 
And  lofty  courage.    First  who  dared  obey 
Thine  own  unerring  instincts,  and  thy  pure 
All-womanly  perception  of  the  right, 
Tho'  weighed  against  thy  kingdom.     Thou  didst  win 
A  mightier  than  those  despots  took  from  thee, 
And  hast  bequeathed  it  to  thy  royal  daughters ! 
Grief  is  their  portion:  suffering  and  loss 
Too  oft  befall  them :  yet  no  precious  pearl 
Of  their  inheritance  shall  ever  go 
To  purchase  ease,  nor  regal  circumstance, — 
Nor  even  thrones, — still  are  they  always  royal. 

You  have  divined  our  title,  and  I  now 
Will  teH  you  where  but  little  while  ago 
We  fixed  our  dwelling-place, — our  "Vashti's  Home." 
Ay,  verily  a  home !    For  there  we  rest 
And  work  and  grow  by  giving  our  heart's  best 
Each  unto  all  in  ready  helpfulness. 

35 


For  so  in  little  deeds  and  thoughts  of  love, 
In  generous  comprehension, — in  the  full 
Ungrudging  recognition  of  the  needs 
And  claims  of  others, — does  the  spirit  find 
Its  sweetest  source  of  nurture  for  the  life 
That  lifts  and  broadens  into  symmetry 
And  perfect  grace  and  fragrant  blossoming. 

Ah !  how  I  wish  that  I  might  picture  you 
That  sunny  home ! — the  home  of  purity 
And  peace  and  happiness  that  every  good, 
Sweet,  loving  woman  longs  for! 

Do  you  know 

That  dear,  enchanted  lake  that  bears  the  name 
Of  old  world  music ;  resting  like  a  babe 
In  fairy  cradle,  shyly  smiling  back 
In  blue-eyed  wonder  into  smiling  skies 
That  bend  so  low  above  it  where  it  lies 
Close-guarded  by  the  soft  Wisconsin  hills? 

Ah !  you  do  know  it !  then  no  need  to  say 
The  spot  for  our  "  Heimgarten  "  scarce  could  be 
More  fitly  chosen. 

The  interest  that  I  see 
Depicted  in  your  face  must  later  plead 
My  strong  excuse  for  offering  what  may  seem 
A  somewhat  egotistical  account 
Of  how  this  home  of  ours  came  into  being. 

36 


The  focal  germ  round  which  have  since  ajccrued 
Such  kindred  germs  as  faith  and  energy 
Have  fostered  into  most  surprising  growth, 
Received  its  first  real  ray  of  quickening  life 
From  the  rare  friend  whose  well-tried  sympathy 
Rings  always  true,  and  whose  wise-heartedness, 
In  many  of  my  life's  emergencies, 
Has  proved  so  safe  a  guide  and  sure  dependence. 

Look  not  such  wide  surprise.     However  strong 
A  woman's  spirit  may  be,  still  her  heart 
Must  find  some  genial,  firm-based  human  rock 
Less  plastic  than  itself  to  rest  upon, 
If  her  fine  soul  is  not  to  free  itself 
For  kindlier  spheres  ere  yet  it  has  attained 
Full  growth  and  ripeness  in  the  earth  garden. 

'Tis  fineness  and  not  weakness,  that  unfits 
The  fibre  feminine  for  steady,  long, 
Persistent  and  successful  buffeting 
With  the  fierce  winds  of  adverse  circumstance 
In  cold  unsheltered  places.     And  if  God 
Had  not  seen  fit  to  fashion  in  these  times, 
One  man  of  royal  instincts, — nobly  true 
And  chivalrous  of  heart  to  comprehend 
The  best  in  womanhood ; — and  given  him 
A  steady  brain  and  strong  and  helpful  hand, 
And  kept  him  pure  to  speak  His  message  thro', — 

37 


I  would  not  now,  my  friend,  be  here  with  you 
To  bear  glad  witness  to  the  miracle. 

One  day — the  only  one  my  memory  marks 
From  a  long  file  of  days  that  wretchedness 
Had  flattened  to  a  dead  monotony, — 
He  came,  as  was  his  custom  at  that  hour, 
And  looking  with  that  searching  glance  of  his 
Into  my  eyes  and  holding  my  weak  hand, 
He  said,  with  emphasis  that  served  to  fix 
My  languid  interest — too  inclined  to  roam 
From  the  dull  theme  of  oft-recounted  symptoms,— 

'  My  friend,  you're  dying  of  a  slow  disease 
That  only  women  die  of.    A  crisis  grave — 
Perhaps  fatal  even — is  nearing  fast; 
But  while  I  warn  you,  I  must  also  say 
That  we  have  left  untried  one  hopeful  means 
By  which  this  dread  disease  may  yet  be  baffled.' 

He  took  swift  note  of  my  unspoken  question, 
And  then  made  haste  to  parry  it  unanswered. 

'  No,  never  mind  the  name.    A  name,  you  know, 
Is  like  a  winged  seed  that  sows  itself, 
To  grow  in  time  a  hundred  other  seeds 
Till  soon  we  have  a  harvest — sometimes  good, — 
More  often  evil,  for  ill  things  you  know" 
Are  somehow  more  prolific  than  the  good, — 

38 


If  haply  shorter-lived.     We'll  talk  of  how 
To  fight  this  ill  of  yours  by  strategy ; 
Then  you  shall  name  it  in  an  epitaph 
Some  day  when  you  are  happy.' 

'  Talk  not  to  me,'  I  cried, '  of  happiness! 
You  do  not  know  how  cruelly  that  word 
May    sometimes    torture!'     And   then    that    he    had 

meant 

Should  happen,  happened ;  for  the  poor,  pent  heart 
So  sorely  over-charged  with  the  full  weight 
Of  tears  that  would  not  flow,  had  found  relief. 

He  did  not  try  to  stay  that  hurrying  flood 
Of  hot  but  healing  tears,  but  let  me  weep 
Till  nature  could  no  more.     Then  presently, — 
With  that  peculiar  gentleness  that  marks 
His  simplest  word  or  gesture, — clasped  the  hand 
That  still  was  trembling  from  the  storm,  and  said : — 

*  These  tears  will  save  you :  if  not  quite  the  cure 
I  had  in  mind,  still  maybe  'tis  as  well 
That  nature  should  forestall  me.    Now  I  mean 
To  forestall  nature.'     Then  his  smile  grew  grave : — 
'  Can  you  not  give  that  tired  heart  of  yours 
Relief  another  way,  and  tell  me  what 
Is  slowly  breaking  it?  ' 

E'en  to  this  day 
I  know  not  how  it  came  that  all  that  load 

39 


Of  hard,  humiliant  sorrow  I  had  meant 
To  keep  forever  sealed  within  my  lips, 
Had  slip't  its  bounds  and  passed  them.     But  I  know- 
That  more  than  half  its  dull  distracting  weight 
Went  with  my  friend  when  easier  duties  came 
To  call  him  from  my  side  that  summer  day. 

You  know  the  skill  that  many  a  stricken  mind, 
Restored  and  whole,  has  cause  to  bless  him  for ; 
And  I'll  not  weary  you  with  long  account 
Of  how  he  turned  my  thoughts  by  slow  degrees 
Away  from  hurtful  grooves,  and  tactfully 
Set  all  the  misery-choked,  discouraged  springs 
Of  sympathy  again  to  healthful  flowing. 

One  day  his  theme  would  be  some  dread  disease 
That  highest  human  skill  seemed  powerless 
To  more  than  palliate; — the  next  perhaps 
He'd  paint  some  scene  of  wretched  suffering 
That  need  not  be  if  but  the  practical 
And  simple  means  to  supplement  his  work 
Were  at  command.    Here  mayhap  I  must  share 
Some  bitter  sorrow  that  the  fresh-turned  sod 
Must  shortly  cover: — there,  far  sadder  woe 
Appealed,  where  ached  a  heart  full  poignantly 
For  that  no  grave  would  hide  its  peaceless  dead. 

He  drew  me  thus,  unwittingly  to  myself, 
40 


Up  by  his  side,  where,  in  the  searching  light 

Of  actual  fact,  these  painful  pictures  lay 

Unsoftened  by  such  shadows  as  my  own 

Dark  sorrow  might  at  closer  view  have  lent  them. 

And  such  his  generous  tact,  my  threatening  reefs 

Were  safely  rounded  ere  I  grew  aware 

What  priceless  lessons  in  the  blessed  art 

Of  tender  helpfulness  and  pitying  love, 

And  sympathy,  that  leads  to  self -forgetting, 

He  in  his  wisdom  had  been  teaching  me. 

Thro'  simple  gratitude  I  first  was  moved 
To  study  how  I  best  could  complement 
His  altruistic  labors:  then  it  fell, 
As  if  in  natural  order,  that  ere  long 
He  scarcely  thought  to  question  if  in  straits 
He  might  rely  on  me  for  help  and  counsel. 
'Twas  thus,  one  day  when  he  had  sought  my  aid 
In  solving  what  for  him  had  so  far  proved 
A  baffling  human  problem, — while  we  still 
Were  vainly  puzzling  over  it, — it  chanced 
That  half  in  jest,  the  slender  blade  of  thought 
That  afterward  attained  such  magnitude 
Sprang  up  between  us. 

He  had  grown  distraught 

And  paced  my  study  floor  with  nervous  strides, 
Unceasing  back  and  forth,  distractingly, 

41 


Until  by  my  own  nervousness  compelled 
To  break  his  absent  mood,  I  smiling  said 

*  Why  this  dissatisfaction,  might  I  ask  ? 
Is  it  because  the  famed  efficiency 

Of  woman's  intuition  put  to  test, 

Has  this  time  proved  an  ignominious  failure? 

I  know  this  morning's  work  has  poorly  served 
To  raise  your  man's  respect  for  what  we  claim 
As  our  peculiar  feminine  distinction. 
But  hold  your  judgment,  friend ;  give  me  the  night 
To  weigh  this  problem — which  you  can  but  grant 
Is  very  far  from  simple, — and  by  this 
To-morrow,  I  can  safely  promise  you 
Your  confidence  restored  in  woman's  wit.' 

My  banter  served  its  purpose,  for  at  last 
He  ceased  his  restless  walk,  regarding  me 
A  moment,  still  abstracted,  ere  he  spoke: — 

*  I  plead  not  guilty  to  the  ungallant 
Reflections  your  most  hastily  deduced 
Conclusions  would  impute, — 'though  I  must  own 
The  justice  of  your  primal  observation. 

The  woman's  intuition  cannot  fail 
Where  once  you  have  engaged  the  woman  heart ; 
And  I've  no  apprehensions  on  the  score 
Of  how  you  mean  to  finally  dispose 
Of  my  hard  problem.     What  has  caused  in  me 

42 


The  mood  you  rightly  named  "  dissatisfaction," 
Nothing  concerns  your  capability 
Or  will  have  to  serve  my  needy  proteges, 
But  touches  on  a  far  more  vital  question. 

Your  eyes  are  more  than  clear,  your  judgment  sure, 
Wherever  other  lives'  necessities 
Make  dumb  appeal:  then  wherefore  should  you  be 
So  more  than  blind,  or  else  indifferent, 
To  what  your  own  starved  nature  mutely  prays  for? 

I  know  what  you  would  say; — you're  making  fair 
And  steady  progress  toward  your  normal  health; 
But  that  does  not  content  me.    What  I  want 
For  you  is  nurture,  sunshine,  air  and  space, 
Such  as  your  being  urgently  demands, 
For  growth  and  free  expansion. — You  need  a  home.' 

*  A  home  ?  '  I  said,  perplexed,  for  where  we  talked, 
'Mid  spacious  walls  and  soft  accessories 
To  ease  and  busy  leisure,  I  was  sure 
He  knew  me  rightful  mistress. 

'  Yes,  a  home. 

He  quietly  repeated.     '  Give  the  word 
Its  fullest  weight  of  Anglo-Saxon  meaning. 
A  home  is  not  what  merely  shelters  us, 
Or  lends  such  prestige  as  the  social  world 
Accords  to  what  helps  build  it.     Home  is  where 
The  heart  is  nourished,  cultured,  exercised 

43 


To  the  full  measure  and  the  use  of  all 

Its  latent  powers  and  possibilities, 

And  strengthened  for  true  service  in  the  world. 

So  rich  a  womanhood  as  yours  is  starved, 
Repressed  and  warped  from  its  symmetrical 
And  full  unfoldment,  when  it  fails  that  close 
And  constant  interchange  of  sympathy, — 
That  happy  exercise  of  heart  and  brain 
In  tenderness  and  care  for  weaker  things — 
That  constitutes  the  spirit  of  a  home. 
I  am  dissatisfied  because  for  lack 
Of  right  environment,  one  glorious  type 
Of  strong,  complete  and  rounded  womanhood 
That  might  be,  is  not.' 

'  Indeed,  you  greatly  over- 
estimate 

My  meagre  store  of  possibilities ! ' 
I  answered  calmly  and  with  some  reserve; 
For  this  implied  forgetting  on  his  part 
Of  what  so  hard  and  bitter  fate  enforced 
My  present  lonely  life,  had  wounded  me. 
And  then  my  calmness  suddenly  gave  place 
To  warm,  indignant  protest: — 

4  Do  you  then, 

In  common  with  the  most  of  men,  believe 
That  that  most  arduous  of  human  tasks: 
That  loftiest  and  holiest  of  all  aims : 

44 


The  founding  on  firm  ground,  the  building  sure: 

The  watching,  warding,  keeping  undefiled, 

Wholesome  and  holy,  home  and  all  the  word 

Originally   stood  for: — filling  it 

With  life  and  light  and  music,  made  of  joy 

And  peace  and  purity, — you  think 

Such  work  as  this  belongs  alone  to  woman? 

If  the  best  that  she  by  single  effort, 

Can  achieve,  when  freed  from  clog  or  hindrance, 

Seems  to  you  so  far  from  perfect,  what  of  that 

Most  wretched  semblance  that  so  often  stands 

For  home  when  haps  it  that  the  fateful  hand, 

In  honor  pledged  to  aid  and  further  her 

In  all  her  noblest  aims  and  purposes, 

Proves  wantonly  destructive,  or  at  best 

A  hopeless  drag  to  all  her  energies  ? 

A  home  should  be,  I  grant  you,  all  the  best 
That  poet  pen  can  picture  or  suggest. 
But  never  on  life's  canvas  shall  we  see 
Such  picture  realized  until  in  man 
Is  born  the  knowledge  and  the  will  to  do 
His  honest,  faithful  part. — Is  born!    Ay,  there 
We  have  the  key  to  man's  regeneration! 
She  who  weaves  from  her  own  subtile  fibre, 
Marvellously,  in  ways  she  wots  not  of, 
The  living  calyx  where  a  soul  is  caught 
And  safely  cradled;  she  whose  sacred  trust 

45 


None  but  the  whitest  angels  up  in  heaven 

Dare  of  themselves  assume, — the  fashioning 

Of  tender  things  that  ever-more  must  bear, 

For  beauty  or  for  blemish,  every  least 

And  lightest  impress  of  the  modeler's  hand, — 

Whether  it  be  the  careful  master-stroke 

Or  ignorant  handling, — she  it  is  who  first 

Must  be  set  free,  uplifted,  purified; 

Made  strong  with  courage,  wise  and  nobly  fit 

To  wear  her  priceless  crown  of  motherhood, 

Before  the  world  can  look  for  better  men.' 

*  All  true,'  assented  he,  '  but  will  you  stop 
Where  thousands  have,  content  to  recognize 
A  vital  truth,  nor  seek  expedients 
To  make  it  practical?     You  who  perceive 
So  far  so  clearly,  can  you  not  descry 
Some  means  to  compass  what  so  ardently 
Your  reverent  spirit  prays  to  see  accomplished? 
Admit  that  man's  regeneration  waits 
On  woman's  spiritual  emancipation,  still 
The  question  of  a  better  race  of  men 
Remains  in  status  quo.    Man's  moral  plane 
Is  not  so  high  as  woman's,  therefore  how 
Shall  he  help  her  to  rise?     The  only  means 
To  uplift  woman-kind  'twould  seem  inheres 
In  womanhood  itself ;  nor  can  I  see 

46 


How  man  can  help  her, — save  perhaps  he  lends 
His  strength  as  fulcrum  to  her  moral  lever. — 
Indeed  it  rather  seems  to  me  that  man 
For  ages  past,  has  so  contributed 
His  powers  to  further  feminine  ambitions. 
How  more  could  he  advantage  her?    In  fact, 
What  is  it  that  seditious  woman  needs 
Or  waits  for  to  effect  her  own  redemption  ? ' 

His  final  query,  partly  quizzical 
And  partly  earnest,  piqued  my  woman's  pride 
To  quick  retort. 

*  The  woman's  need,'  I  said, 
'  Is  man's  need  also,  tho'  her  wants,  I  grant, 
Are  mainly  different  and  something  less 
Irrational — e'en  tho'  savants  do  see  fit 
To  sit  in  judgment  on  her  strong  demands 
For  '  higher  education  '  and  the  right 
To  free  employment  of  her  faculties 
Along  self-chosen  lines.    I  feel  no  call 
To  argue  in  behalf  of  '  Woman's  Cause,' 
And  only  speak  for  all  humanity 
When  moved  to  plead  for  any  information ; — 
For  man  and  woman  make  two  equal  halves 
To  be  redeemed  as  one  or  lost  divided. — 
But  whether  the  human  race  shall  gain  or  lose 
Thro'  special  training  and  unfettered  use 

47 


Of  woman's  intellect,  I  hold  it  to  be 

A  question  that  should  shame  a  thinking  age 

To  speechful  silence. 

The  one  doubtful  point 
Which  well  may  agitate  the  wisest  heads 
Of  these  enlightened  times,  is  whether  yet 
The  truest  means  to  healthful  discipline 
And  culture  of  the  *  genius  humanus  ' 
Of  either  sex,  has  been  exemplified 
Or  e'en  discovered.     Humanity,  poor  waif, 
Scarce  conscious  what  it  misses,  stands  forlorn 
At  Wisdom's  gate  and  waits  with  patient  eyes 
For  its  true  Alma  Mater  to  come  by 
And  pity  its  neglected  orphanage.' 
i 

Our  friend  here  took  occasion  to  defend 
Our  splendid  halls  of  learning,  pointing  out 
The  excellence  of  their  methods;  and,  alert 
In  all  his  masculine  regard  and  jealousy 
For  settled  institutions,  bade  me  state 
Where  I  could  point  improvement,  '  ere  I  swept 
Our  educational  systems  thus  aside 
With  all  a  woman's  fine  inconsequence.' 

And  thus  full  fairly  challenged,  what  could  I 
But  summon  all  my  wits  to  prove  him  wrong 
In  thinking  me  a  mere  iconoclast? 
But  hardly  less  than  he  was  I  surprised 

48 


At  what  Utopian  vision  sprang  to  life 
And  vivid  outline  'neath  the  actinic  warmth 
Of  my  impulsive  words.     Never  before 
Had  my  vague  heresies  resolved  themselves 
To  well-defined  objections;  nor  till  now, 
My  cherished  dreams  of  some  far  nobler  plan 
Of  education  than  the  world  yet  knew 
Found  solid  ground  for  near  anticipation. 

At  first  with  genial  tolerance,  tinged  perhaps 
With  curiosity  our  friend  gave  ear 
To  my  swift  flow  of  speech;  but  presently 
His  look  of  half -amusement  changed  to  keen, 
Attentive  interest,  till,  before  I  reached 
The  climax  of  my  optimistic  dreaming, 
His  interest  grew  and  quickened  into  warm, 
Enthusiastic  sympathy  that  fired 
My  final  utterance,  and  lent  the  thrill 
And  eerie  fatefulness  of  prophecy. 

1  That  great  wave,'  I  concluded,  '  preordained 
To  give  the  world  its  next  grand  impetus 
Millenialward,  needs  all  the  conscious  strength 
The  race  can  garner  up  and  concentrate 
To  meet  its  swift  incoming  and  to  launch 
In  safety  all  our  priceless  hopes  upon  it. 
Only  such  wisdom  as  the  heart  distils 

49 


From  purity  and  love  can  generate 
This  needed  strength ;  and  how  to  re-create 
The  human  heart  and  teach  it  to  perform 
Its  holy  office,  seems  to  me  the  one 
Divinely  hallowed  task  that  worthily 
Awaits  some  fervent  soul's  full  consecration.' 

His  eyes  shone  mistily : — '  Who  knows,'  he  said, 
*  But  you  yourself  are  destined  to  fulfill 
That  Heaven-appointed  mission?  '     Then  he  rose 
And  clasped  my  hand  and  left  me  gravely  thoughtful. 

When  God  maps  any  work  for  us,  I'm  sure 
He  also  maps  the  means  to  its  completion ; 
And  ere  I  had  admitted  to  my  mind 
As  fairly  feasible,  our  friend's  suggestion, 
He  brought  me  plans  so  plainly  practical 
And  well  thought  out,  that  I  could  nothing  less 
Than  pledge  him  my  sincere  cooperation: — 
Tho'  gravely  doubting  still  the  fittingness 
Of  that  unique  responsibility 
His  confidence  so  readily  assigned  me. 

An  enterprise  resolved  upon,  with  some 
Is  half  accomplished,  and  ere  many  months 
Had  passed,  our  thought  had  taken  partial  shape 
In  solid  stone  and  marble.    A  lustrum  now 

50 


Has  watched  the  fair  unfolding  of  that  dream 
That  all  my  life  had  haunted;  and  the  deep 
Unselfish  satisfaction  so  far  reaped 
Were  worth  another  life's  probationship 
Sacrific  even  as  Heaven  required  of  me." 

Strong  as  my  interest  was,  the  gentle  hush 
Upon  her  face  constrained  me  to  repress 
My  eager  wish  for  more,  till  the  sweet  smile 
Invited  me  to  speak;  then  clamorously 
A  score  of  questions  each  claimed  precedence. 
She  answering,  thus  resumed : — "  I  hardly  know 
What  first  suggested  *  Vashti's  '  as  the  name 
Most  fitting  for  our  Home;  but  once  it  found 
Consideration  with  us,  nothing  else 
Would  seem  admissible.     Our  aim  in  part 
You  see,  was  evolution  of  the  best 
And  highest  qualities  of  womanhood, 
In  such  environment  as  would  afford 
Room  for  their  free  employment  in  some  cause 
Whose  issue  should  requite  love's  labor  vested. 
And  such  a  cause  we  knew  our  final  aim 
Indubitably  furnished;  for  the  hope 
Of  speeding,  e'er  so  slightly,  toward  the  goal 
Of  perfectness,  one  human  entity, 
Seemed  work  that  even  angels  might  rejoice 
To  have  assigned  them. 

51 


Right  environment 
And  right  association  we  believed 
The  two  essential  principles  involved 
In  youthful  education:  and  a  child 
Could  not,  we  argued,  constantly  respire 
The  pure  and  vital  atmosphere  we  meant 
Our  home  should  insulate,  except  to  store 
That  spiritual  elixir  which  insures 
To  good  inheritance  development 
Harmonious  and  full.    The  woman  meant 
By  Heaven's  most  plain  intention  to  create 
And  keep  such  atmosphere,  is  never  found 
Of  natural  choice,  outside  the  sheltering  arms 
Of  love  and  home.     'Tis  such  and  only  such — 
As  fate  has  stranded  and  left  desolate, 
Who  rightly  can  esteem  a  home  like  ours, 
Or  bring  to  it  its  grand  desiderata. 
These  are  the  Vashti's,  sorrow-taught,  but  brave, 
Who've  walked  uprightly  their  appointed  ways 
Thro'  bitterness  and  trial,  gaining  thus 
The  tender  heart,  the  sweet  humility, 
The  patience  and  the  dignity  of  soul, 
That  mark  them  worthy  of  their  chastening. 

We  do  not  look  for  such  as  these  where  throng 
Competitors  for  privilege  to  race 
Beside  the  strong,  hard-driven  sons  of  Adam. 

The  genius-of-the-world's  most  tempting  lure 

52 


To  man's  ambition,  looks  the  veriest  toy 
To  what  the  full-orbed  woman  cherisheth 
Within  her  heart  of  hearts  as  worth  achievement. 

Bereft  of  home  and  all  the  dear  delights 
Of  loving  ministration ;  shorn  of  all 
Her  heart  had  offered  worship  to:  deprived 
Of    such    sweet,    natural    means    of    growth    and 

grace 

As  motherhood,  love-heralded,  affords  her, 
Brave,  large-souled,  tender  Vashti !  What  can  she 
But  let  her  hungry  heart  and  eager  brain 
Consume  themselves,  except  for  her  to  found 
Some  kingdom  worthy  of  her  royal  sceptre? 

Our  home  is  such  a  kingdom ;  and  the  proud, 
Sincere  devotedness  and  reverence 
Of  her  most  loyal  subjects,  prove  how  wise 
And  just,  and  love-inspiring  is  her  reign. 

Her  subjects?      You  should   see  them!      Nobly- 
poised, 

Sweet,  gracious  women,  gentle  girls,  and  rare, 
Exotic  types  of  small  humanity 
That  left  unhomed,  are  welcomed  to  our  care. 

No  one  can  buy  the  right  to  dwell  with  us, 
But  those  we  know  possessed  in  large  degree 

53 


Of  woman's  finest  gifts,  and  also  freed 
By  circumstance  from  all  the  natural  ties 
That  love  and  duty  make  so  sweetly  binding, — 
Such  we  seek  out  and  ask  to  hide  with  us ; — 
At  first,  a  while  as  guest,  the  better  thus 
To  judge  if  they  can  pledge  the  sisterhood 
Full  fealty  and  support.     And  this  explains 
How  came  our  friend  to  ask  of  me, — instead 
Of  one  more  versed  in  strict  pathology, — 
To  watch  beside  you  while  he  strove  to  lead 
You  safely  past  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow." 

My  cheek  flushed  warm  as  suddenly  I  sensed 
The  gaping  gulf  between  the  buoyant  health 
That  thrilled  me  now,  and  those  numb,  stricken  days 
That  found  me  Soeur  Marie.     And  all  my  heart 
Throbbed  in  the  grateful  hands  that  silent  reached 
To  clasp  the  two  that  in  such  love  had  served  me. 

She  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  all  the  warm, 
Soft  tenderness  of  her  sweet  womanhood 
Caressed  me  in  her  voice : 

"  Dear,  will  you  come 

While  yet  the  witchery  of  June  is  round  it, 
And  prove  if  too  alluringly  my  love 
Has  sketched  the  picture  of  our  happy  Rest? 
I  own  to  something  selfish  in  the  wish 

54 


That  you  should  learn  to  love  us:  for  to  win 
Your  final  full  allegiance  could  but  bring 
Great  joy  to  me  as  well  as  gain  to  Vashti's. 

But  ev'n  all  this  apart  I  greatly  wish 
For  your  own  sake  that  you  should  breathe  awhile 
The  subtile  air  of  that  small  paradise. — 
So  sure  am  I  that  such  environment 
Will  soon  discover  what  vast  areas  lie 
Still  fallow  in  your  nature, — ay,  unguessed 
By  your  blind  self-distrust." 

The  tender  smile, 

So  full  of  loving  confidence,  yet  failed 
To  exorcise  that  watchful  demon,  doubt, 
That  ever  kept  his  silent  pace  beside  me. 

"  But  surely,"  I  protested,  "  you  have  seen 
Ere  this,  how  hopelessly  my  attributes 
Fall  short  of  your  high  standard. 
Those  eyes  of  yours,  I  know  but  seldom  read 
Amiss  in  what  they  estimate  but  now, 
Believe  me,  your  kind  heart  has  glamoured  them." 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled  convincingly, 
But  I  went  on :    "  If  sorrow  sought  me  out, 
'Twas  not  my  worthiness  attracted  it. 
And  if  per  contra.  Providence  saw  fit 
To  send  it  as  a  means  of  discipline, 
Most  sadly  it  miscarried  of  its  purpose. 

55 


In  no  way  am  I  better.  Such  small  store 
Of  faith  and  goodness  as  perhaps  I  might 
Have  once  laid  claim  to,  now  is  worse  than  nil. 

Not  only  faith  in  any  power  that  guides 
Events  with  justice  and  intelligence 
Is  wholly  shattered, — that  I  might  endure 
In  Stoic  fashion, — but  capacity 
To  love  my  fellow-creatures : — hope,  desire 
Or  will  to  aid  them : — ev'n  the  selfish  wish 
To  free  my  wretched  self  from  wretchedness, 
Seems  paralyzed  within  me.    You  perceive 
I  am  no  Vashti, — one  who  *  passing  thro  ' 
The  Valley  of  Bacca  maketh  it  a  well.' 

Your  sisterhood  allures  me  with  its  sweet, 
Enticing  promise  of  secluded  rest; 
But  while  its  motives  much  commend  themselves 
For  beauty  and  for  ethics,  still  I  feel 
No  wish  to  lend  them  personal  devotion. 

With  this  keen  consciousness  of  how  remote 
Is  my  real  character  from  your  conception — 
How  could  I  silently  appropriate 
Your  flattering  estimation;  or  accept 
The  hospitality  your  generous  heart 
So  graciously  extends  to  an  ideal? 

If,  after  this  confession,  you  can  still 
Accord  to   me  unchanged  your  trust  and   friend- 
ship, 

56 


Then  gratefully  indeed  do  I  consent 
To  be  your  guest  at  Vashti's." 

No  least  shade 

Of  doubt  or  disappointment  crossed  her  brow 
Or  darkened  in  her  eyes.    And  her  reply 
Disclosed  how  utterly  my  words  had  failed 
To  change  or  move  her: — 

"  Sometimes  it  is  given. 

To  one  whom  love  makes  worthy  of  the  trust, 
To  read  the  record  of  a  kindred  spirit, — 
Its  past  and  future,  clearly  as  we  read 
The  sky  at  evening.    Do  not  we  discern 
From  sunset  colors,  whispering  winds,  and  vague 
Swift  signs,  elusive  to  the  slow-winged  senses, 
The  kind  of  day  that  has  been,  and  what  kind 
Must  of  a  surety  follow?     Not  all  days 
Thus  openly  record  themselves,  nor  yet 
May  every  soul  be  read  unerringly 
By  most  prophetic  vision.     Only  when 
The  ties  of  love  and  loyalty  have  bound 
For  cycles  long  two  kindred  souls  together, 
Can  either  give  the  ancient  countersign 
With  freedom  not  to  fail  of  recognition. 
We  are  not  strangers,  even  tho'  this  world 
Can  date  our  meeting  from  but  yesterday. 
/  know  my  friend,  and  much  more  truly  than 
She  knows  herself;  and  once  more  in  the  name 

57 


Of  that  dear  knowledge,  I  entreat  of  you 
To  let  her  be  my  guest,  and  nothing  state 
Henceforth  to  me  that  may  discredit  her." 

What  could  I  say?    Beneath  the  playfulness 
Of  her  last  chiding  words,  I  would  but  feel 
The  deep  sincerity  to  which  my  heart 
Instinctively  responded;  tho'  in  vain 
My  reason  groped  for  relevance  in  much 
The  mystic  tenor  of  her  speech  imported. 
•  •••••... 

A  sheet  of  living  sapphire,  greenly  girt 
By  velvet  hills,  and  densely  broidered  in 
With  rare  and  variegated  silken  richness: 
Rough-quarried     granite,     and     wrought     marble, 

grouped 

And  arched  and  domed  and  columned  till  they  sang 
In  symphony  together,  gleaming  soft 
Thro'  gray  and  green  and  umber, — tracery  wrought 
By  cunning  forest-fingers  taught  of  June 
A  naiad  flashing  by  in  haste  to  hide 
Her  shimmering  whiteness  in  the  shielding  waters ; 
And  over  all  the  sky — the  soft  June  sky, — 
Flecked  with  the  filmy  forms  of  mist-born  spirits. 

"  A  dream,"  I  thought,  "  a  dream  within  a  dream." 
For  all  this  witchery  of  loveliness 

58 


Lay  softly  mirrored  in  the  sleeping  lake. 
White,  classic-draped,  slow-moving  goddesses, 
Gay  groups  of  children,  slender,  sylph-like  girls, 
And  cherub-featured  infants,  cooing  soft 
To  dove-eyed  mother-faces,  gave  the  scene 
Unfolded  to  my  unprepared  vision, 
A  touch  of  Arcady,  and  thrilled  a  low, 
Long  dormant  chord  of  youthful  visioning 
Half  happiness,  half  dimly  memoried  pain. 
O  fair  sequestered  nook !   Dear  Home ! 

Sweet  Home ! 

The  blessed  peace  that  broodeth  over  thee 
Lulled  all  my  soul  to  rest ;  and  banishing 
Its  cumulous  cloud  of  sorrows,  set  it  free 
To  rise  to  that  pure  world  whose  living  light 
Thy  silent  teachings  pointed.    Sheltering  Home! 
When   I    forget  the   hallowed  mother-touch 
That  soothed  my  infant  griefs :  when  from  my  heart 
Time's  hand  obliterates  that  mother's  smile: 
Then  shall  grow  dim  the  blessed  memory 
Of  days  that  saw  thy  soft,  protecting  wings 
Infold  my  spirit  while  thy  love  transformed  it ! 

A  fortnight  I  had  said  when  Soeur  Marie 
First  begged  the  stipulated  week's  extension ; 
But  summer's  prime  was  past  and  winged  seers 
Insistent  shrilled  of  doom  to  drowsy  August 

59 


Before  my  heart  could  bring  itself  to  heed 
Claims  urgently  demanding  my  departure. 

And  ah,  those  fair,  enchanted,  fleeting  weeks 
Purloined  from  puissant  care !  How  shall  I  tell 
What  vast  eternal  gain  their  passing  wrought 
To  me  of  life's  imperishable  riches? 

The  interested,  free,  unhurrying 
Activity  around ;  the  restful  air 
Of  large  unfettered  leisure  to  pursue 
The  all-delighted  aim  of  happy  living, 
While  failing  not  to  work  upon  my  heart 
Its  subtle  soothing  spell  no  less  provoked 
My  critic  mind  to  wonder.    "  How,"  I  thought, 
"  Can  high  refinement  and  broad  culture  rest 
Thus  satisfied  in  what  alone  concerns 
This  small,  detached  and  introverted  world? 
Is  intellect  so  all-conformable 
That  once  assimilating  greatness,  still 
Its  healthy  vigor  finds  the  minimum 
Of  puerile  interests  not  the  less  sufficing?  " 

O  conceit  of  knowledge  uniformed 
Of  that  pure  wisdom  that  doth  ever  wear 
The  garb  of  foolishness  to  worldly  vision ! 

In  after  days  when  clearer  insight  dawned 
And  understanding  deepened,  thoughts  like  these 

60 


Put  all  my  soul  to  blush ;  for  he  who  forms 
With  equal  care  the  tiniest  lichen-cup 
Or  farthest  world  of  fast-revolving  light, 
No  least  thing  nameth  small,  and  nothing  great. 

An  honored  guest,  yet  unrestrained  and  free 
As  any  habitue,  I  came  and  went, 
Among  the  busy,  happy  household  bees, 
As  fancy  wafted  me  or  interest  led ; 
And    from    the    calm-faced,    clear-eyed    Gretchen,- 

capped 

And  snowy  aproned — to  the  slender  girl 
Whose  every  motion  spoke  her  gentle  breeding, 
I  marked  no  mood  but  glad  contentedness 
And  eager  drinking  like  a  growing  flower 
Of  life's  pure  light  and  sweetness. 

No  one  there 

Among  those  gracious  women  seemed  to  hold 
Superior  place  nor  yet  assumed  the  air 
Or  accent  of  instructor ;  nor  could  I 
Detect  authority  or  servileness 
In  any  tone  or  gesture.     All  appeared 
As  on  an  equal  footing, — bound  by  laws 
Of  courtesy  and  kindness  each  to  serve 
The  other,  each  unobtrusively  alert 
To  give  her  best,  and  tactfully  accord 
Room  to  the  least  another's  heart  would  proffer. 

61 


"  Freedom,"  had  answered  Soeur  Marie,  when  I 
Confessed  the  key  to  this  fine  harmony 
An  undiscovered  secret ;  "  no  one  here 
Claims  of  another  e'en  the  slightest  thing 
As  due  by  right.    From  our  Home  lexicon 
Two  jaded  terms  are  watchfully  excluded; — 
'  Duty  '  and  '  obligation,'  and  in  their  stead 
We  write  the  one  word  'love.'  " 

"And  do  you  find 

Love  all  that's  needed  for  the  discipline 
And  government  of  childhood  ?  "  I  inquired 
With  smiling  skepticism. 

"All "  she  said, 

In  that  low,  even  tone  that  never  failed 
To  carry  full  conviction ;  and  my  close 
And  curious  after-observation  proved 
How  justly  founded  was  her  affirmation. 

Few  were  the  hours  of  those  soft  summer  days 
That  even  Vashti's  classic  halls  could  lure  us. 
For  dark  indeed  must  be  Olympus'  frown 
To  drive  such  nature-worshippers  as  we 
To  flee  the  temple  of  their  trusted  goddess. 

Each    morning    found   us    gathering    'neath    the 

trees 

In  eager  groups  for  long  delightful  talks 
With  Soeur  Marie ;  for  never  day  but  brought 

62 


Some  question  baffling  in  its  subtleties 
To  our  less  penetrant  and  lucid  minds, 
Yet  ever  simple  to  her  pure  heart-wisdom. 

For  even  here,  among  these  many  rare 
And  nobly-dowered  spirits,  Scaur  Marie 
Still  shone  apart  with  luculent,  serene, 
Unborrowed  lustre,  like  a  lonely  star. 
And  all  adored  the  sweet  humility 
And  gentle  grace  that  lent  such  genialness 
To  her  dear  presence,  for  all  recognized 
The  rarity  of  soul  that  less  of  love 
Had  left  too  fine  and  cold  for  friendship's  uses. 

No  principle  nor  problem  seemed  to  be 
Too  deep  for  her  fine  sympathy  to  fathom; 
And  watching  her  in  this  environment, 
I  more  and  more  perceived  how  hitherto 
I  had  but  glimpsed  her  nature's  varied  richness. 

With  no  less  pleasure  than  the  rest  I  drank 
Her  fresh  extempore  wisdom,  marvelling 
At  its  so  fine  adaption  to  the  needs 
Of  various  minds  and  moods.    But  best  was  I 
Content  when  happened  it  that  all  the  rest 
Found  interests  elsewhere ;  then  my  Soeur  Marie 
And  I  would  seek  a  small,  steep-winding  path,- 
Unfrequented  by  others  thro'  the  sweet 

63 


And  courteous  tact  that  marked  the  preference, 
Tho'  unexpressed,  and  held  our  favorite  way 
As  sacred  to  that  freer  conference 
Our  quiet  strolls  permitted. — In  and  out 
Thro'  brush  and  forest-tangle,  up  and  up 
By  rock  and  stream  it  wound,  our  little  path, 
To  cease  abruptly  where  a  single  pine 
Had  kept  for  decades  long  its  lonely  vigils. 

Here,  while  a  sweet,  incessant,  murmuring  song 
Timed  to  the  beat  of  waves  far  down  below  us, 
Charmed  us  to  silent  sympathy  or  moved 
To  unreserved  speech,  I  sometimes  framed — 
And  she  as  simply  answered — questions  which 
Self -consciousness  might  otherwhere  have  hindered. 

The  life  at  Vashti's  more  and  more  appealed 
To  that  mercurial  imagination 
Which  was  my  large  but  doubtful  heritage ; 
And  judgment,  always  sternly  vigilant 
To  guard  against  a  final  full  surrender, 
Oft  prompted  me  to  cynic-utterance 
Or  adverse  criticism; — all  of  which 
My  friend  received  with  patient  courtesy 
And  sweet  forbearance.    Plainly  she  was  sure 
The  Home  itself  would  answer  finally 
The  last  of  my  objections.     Always  tho', 
With  gracious  readiness  would  she  explain 


Whatever  point  I  chanced  to  commentate; — 
Regardless  if  I  praised  or  deprecated. 

Thus  when  I  asked  if  Vashti's  was  the  type 
Predestined,  in  her  mind,  to  supersede 
The  home  as  founded  on  old-fashioned  lines, 
She  answered: — 

"  No.    We  cannot  hope  to  make 
This  home  quite  everything  a  true  home  should  be. 
The  most  our  rosiest  optimism  holds 
As  possible  for  one  short  life's  achievement 
Is  peaceful,  sunny,  happy  garden  spot 
Where  every  latent  home-creative  germ 
May  be  supremely  cultured  and  increased 
For  future  propagation.    What  if  some 
Be  lost  or  prove  unfruitful? — Nature  saves 
Not  all  she  travaileth  for; — and  some  good  seeds 
Are  destined  surely  to  disseminate 
And  grow  and  bloom  to  beauty  and  to  sweetness. 

And  then  shall  come  our  great  and  sure  reward ; 
For  what  tho'  fate  hath  willed  that  we  shall  leave 
Our  field  of  labor  ere  its  full  fruition? 
No  heaven  can  hold  for  us  such  perfectness 
But  that  the  tiniest  true  love-light  that  shines 
On  earth  for  our  increasing,  shall  enhance 
That  heaven's  transcendent  glory.     Such  our  faith- 
That  living  force  that  forms  from  future  hopes 

65 


The  present  blessing, — ever  saving  us 
From  over-anxiousness  and  fretting  fear 
For  works  resultant." 

Here  she  touched  a  key 

To  which  no  conscious  chord  in  me  responded. 
With  aim  to  make  digression  and  insure 
Continuance  of  her  subject,  I  essayed 
This  venture,  somewhat  curious  of  the  issue : — 

-  "  While  such  a  life  as  this  must  satisfy 
Much  in  the  many-sided  woman-heart 
That  home  too  commonly  ignores  or  stifles, 
Does  it  provide  for  what  is  after  all 
The  paramount  essential  of  her  nature? 
For  conjure  as  we  may  with  natural  laws, 
Their  stern  immutability  will  force 
Their  final  recognition ;  and  the  love, 
Supreme  and  single  in  its  potency 
To  bind  and  weld  in  one,  two  human  hearts, — 
For  purposes  that  we  devoutly  trust 
Are  wise  in  measure  of  their  mystery, — 
Is  not  that  love  the  very  ultimate 
Of  human  nature's  fundamental  laws? 
And  if  it  be,  can  any  mode  of  life 
By  which  that  law  is  utterly  subverted, 
Conduce  to  that  complete  development 
Which  seems  the  aim  at  Vashti's?    I,  perchance, 

66 


Some  point  have  lost  or  misinterpreted; 
But  my  impression  is  that  Vashti  finds 
No  place  in  her  curriculum  for  marriage." 

"And  partly  you  are  right,"  she  answered  me, 
"  For  formal  marriage  as  the  world  defines  it 
We  hold  in  slight  esteem.     Idealists 
Cannot  indulge  in  dreams  that  travesty 
Their  world  of  truth  and  beauty.    Dreamers  find 
A  path  to  Wisdom,  straight  and  plain,  but  all 
Unknown  to  him  whose  only  guide  is  reason : 
And  e'en  for  him  who  dreams,  the  little  path 
Loseth  itself  straightway  if  he  give  ear 
To  any  voice  but  Truth's ;  and  truth  disowns 
The  tottering  structure  that  the  world  calls  '  mar- 
riage.' 

Yet  mark  me  well,  for  marriage  true  and  real, — 
That  heaven-ordained  hallowed  right  that  ope's 
The  very  gate  of  Heaven  to  whom  it  blesseth, — 
Ah!  that  we  pray  may  come,  and  speedily, 
To  every  soul  that  Love  hath  sanctified 
To  reverently  receive  its  sacred  message. 

You  have  observed  us  keenly  and  must  know 
Such  women  as  compose  our  sisterhood 
Could  not  accept  a  fraction  while  the  whole 

67 


Of  human  happiness  were  gainable. 
Nor  are  they  such  as  missing  life's  most  dear 
And  natural  joys,  feed  disappointed  hearts 
On  sapless  sophistry  that  makes  of  love 
A  false,  delusive  dream  of  bitter  ending. 
With  all  the  ardor  loving  children  bring 
To  task  assigned  by  teacher  they  adore, 
We  search  that  vast,  exhaustless  scroll — the  word- 
Direct,  divine  and  simple,  straight  from  God — 
Enrolled  for  us  between  the  leaves  of  Nature. 
No  line  is  left  obscure;  nor  does  it  fail 
To  answer,  somewhere,  life's  most  intricate 
And  subtle  problems,  to  the  full  content 
Of  most  exacting  mind.     And  this  is  how 
We  render  its  plain  text  concerning  marriage; 

We  would  depend.    It  is  the  woman's  right 
To  be  ensphered,  protected,  pioneered 
By  one  more  fit  than  she,  more  free  and  strong 
To  map  her  world;  foresee  its  limits;  clear 
The  large  obstructions  from  her  path,  that  she 
May  walk  in  safety  and  may  dwell  secure. 
For  only  in  such  freedom  as  the  man, 
By  virtue  of  his  manhood  may  insure 
To  woman,  can  her  nature  so  unfold 
Its  boundless  sweetness  and  its  pristine  grace 
That  once  again  this  desert  wilderness 

68 


Of  care-encankered  life  shall  change  and  bloom 
Like  Paradise  of  old  for  her  and  him. 

Man  sees  but  dimly  that  great  role  that  he 
By  nature  is  assigned  to  fill ;  and  she, 
The  woman,  more  acute  to  feel,  but  still 
Less  broad  of  vision  e'en  than  he,  and  less 
Inclined  to  careful  tracing  from  effect  to  cause, 
Resents  conditions  that  have  circumscribed 
And  warped  her  being:  strives  to  break  the  bounds 
That  man  has  set  her — limiting  himself; 
And  striving  seeks  to  make  that  larger  world 
She  longs  for — thus  usurping  that  dear  right 
Of  man  to  serve  her. 

'Tis  not  woman's  fault 

She  thus  mistakes;  nor  yet  is  man  to  blame 
That  he  discovers  not  at  once  wherein 
He  so  has  failed  to  fill  her  soul's  great  need. 

'Tis  woman  always  who  must  point  the  way 
To  larger  life.     More  quick  to  feel  than  man, 
And  more  inclined  to  question  what  she  feels, 
'Tis  she  who  first  grows  restless  when  the  world 
They  both  have  made  has  served  its  full  intent 
And  holds  no  further  room  for  exercise 
Of  such  increase  of  wisdom,  power  and  strength 
As  both  have  therein  gained.     It  is  from  her 
The  first  command  of  aspiration  sounds. 

69 


"  Move  on  "  she  says ;  but  man  is  slow  to  heed 
Because  for  longer  is  his  soul  content 
With  what  is  well ;  likewise  because  more  clear 
To  him  stand  out  the  obstacles  that  bar 
The  way  to  further  progress.    He  delays, 
And  if  too  long  he  hesitates  and  doubts, 
The  woman  cannot  choose,  for  that  great  force 
That  moves  upon  her,  but  forestall  his  right 
And  act,  howe'er  mistakenly  it  be. 

'Tis  failure  that  most  often  points  the  way 
To  full  success ;  and  woman  when  she  strives 
To  build  that  great,  free,  sun-lit,  song-filled  world 
Her    soul    has    glimpsed    from    some    far    distant 

sphere, 

Points  out  unconsciously  by  those  mistakes 
She  cannot  see,  the  weakness  in  herself 
And  in  her  structure.    Also  in  so  far 
As  she  succeeds,  she  proves  the  meed  of  skill 
And  wisdom  she  has  gathered.     Thus  the  man, 
Intently  watching  her,  is  learning  fast 
A  threefold  lesson :  first,  a  deep  respect 
For  powers  she  proves  herself  possessed  of; 
Next,  the  possibility  of  shaping  forth 
The  living  shadow  of  her  happy  dream, 
While  through  her  daring  he  is  quick  to  see 
How  puny  were  the  obstacles  he  feared; 

70 


And  finally,  her  weakness  teaches  him 

His  glorious  strength,  and  happier  lesson  still, 

Her  need  of  him ! 

Methinks  it  cannot  be 
So  far  away,  the  dawn  of  that  glad  day 
When  man  must  wake  to  that  great  privilege 
That  waits  for  him, — The  building  of  that  world 
That  woman  longs  to  beautify  and  grace. 
When  so  he  wakes,  'twill  be  to  wrest  away 
The  all  too  arduous  toil  from  tender  hands; 
And  she  most  gratefully  will  yield  to  him 
His  own  true  task  and  take  her  rightful  place 
Close  at  his  side. 

"  So  then,"  I  said,  "  'twould  seem 
From  all  your  words  imply,  that  you  agree 
But  partially  with  certain  zealous  minds 
Among  our  would-be  champions  who  assert 
That  no  distinction  in  potential  gifts, 
Capacities   or  tastes   or  fittingness 
Inherent  lies  in  sex?  " 

Her  gentle  smile 
Grew  bright  with  mirth — "  the  strongest  vantage 

ground 

We  as  a  sex  possess,  it  seems  to  me 
Were  yielded  with  that  claim.    If  nature  gives 
To  her  strong  sons  peculiar  attributes 
Essentially  their  own,  to  wield  and  use 

71 


With  natural  ease  which  woman  at  her  best 
Can  but  admire  and  poorly  emulate, 
What  shall  be  said  of  her  distinctive  dower 
Of  special  gifts?     All  sentiment  apart, 
And  vain  conceit,  can  honest  reverence 
Refuse  to  grant  that  woman  holds  in  trust 
As  heavenly  hostage  for  humanity, 
Imperial  virtues  and  rare  subtle  gifts 
That  else  were  sadly  lacking  to  our  race? 

Where  should  we  look  if  not  to  her  for  truth, 
And  constancy,  and  patient  sacrifice, 
And  depth  of  pure  devotion  that  can  lose 
Self  in  some  dearer  self's  far  dearer  cause, 
And  glory  in  the  loss  and  count  it  gain  ? 
And  what  were  life  but  one  long  night  of  gloom 
Had  Heaven  withheld  from  her  one  sacred  trust, — 
Her  power  of  swift  divinement,  gift  of  faith 
That  sees  beyond  the  spirit-chilling  fact: 
That  holds  to  life  despite  the  yawning  grave, 
And  fosters  in  her  heart  celestial  dreams 
Of  Love  and  Love's  redemption, — such  as  man 
Can  never  comprehend  or  call  his  own 
Save  thro'  his  worship  of  her. 

What  man  is  there — 
Full-orbed  and  free,  a  triune  entity, 
With  heart  to  feel  and  intellect  to  weigh, 
And  inner  eye  of  spirit  to  discern,-^- 

72 


What  man  so  heaven-designed  but  cherisheth 
Within  his  heart  of  hearts  this  saving  gleam 
From  the  lost  star  of  truth?    'Tis  woman  leads, 
But  man  in  his  proud  strength  must  go  before 
To  smooth  the  way ;  for  so  in  nature,  plain 
The  law  is  writ  by  hand  that  cannot  err. 

Perish  what  will  of  Life's  illusions ;  sink  as  may 
In  Time's  abyss  the  fragile  fairy  ships 
We  trust  our  hopes  to ;  still  the  winged  fleets 
Of  the  Ideal  shall  ne'er  be  wholly  wrecked 
Till  man  forget  his  fair  immortal  goal, 
And  recognize  no  more  in  womanhood 
The  star  that  shines  to  light  his  spirit  thither. 

The  silence  deepened  round  us  while  the  clear 

Prophetic  voice  vibrated  thro'  and  thro' 

My  inmost  being  till  I  felt  the  light 

Of  that  close-verging  world  her  eloquence 

Had  barely  missed  unveiling  to  my  vision. 

At  last  I  broke  the  spell : — "  Discern  you  then 
Some  sign  that  heralds  this  elysium's 
Divinely  welcome  dawning?    Is  there  hope, 
However  faint,  that  you  and  I  may  see 
Sweet  peace  and  harmony  evolve  from  all 
This  dissonance  and  din  that  woman's  war 
On  man's  most  dear  traditions  wakes  around  us  ? 

73 


The  sweet  expressive  smile  gave  soft  rebuke 
To  my  impatient  fervor : — "  They  who  sow 
The  seed  with  faith  in  spring-time,  surely  they 
Shall  reap  the  harvest ;  what  concerns  it  when 
Or  how  or  in  what  world  the  field  shall  ripen?  " 

Again  that  overtone  of  forgiveness 
That  made  me  vaguely  conscious  of  remote, 
Strange  countries  where  her  spirit  walked,  familiar, 
But  out  of  touch  with  mine.     With  curious  sense 
Of  jealous  loneliness  I  hastened  now 
To  exorcise  the  spell,  and  draw  her  thoughts 
Back  to  our  common  world. 

She  does  not  know 

That  here  my  memory  sets  a  gleaming  stone 
To  mark  a  cherished  epoch  in  our  friendship: 
For  here  it  was  that  first  I  recognized 
In  some  small  measure,  what  her  friendship  meant 
To  my  starved,  empty  life.     And  also  here 
My  soul  began  to  dimly  comprehend 
That  it  must  climb  if  it  would  hope  to  keep 
Within  the  radius  of  her  spirit's  shining. 

For  souls  like  hers  must  seek  at  intervals 
Their  native  mountain-tops,  or  soon  the  dense 
Miasma  of  our  lower  atmosphere, 
Would  force  them  finally  from  Earth  that  now — 
Poor  in  such  prototypes — so  ill  could  spare  them. 

74 


But  not  till  after-time,  when  larger  light 
And  new-born  sympathies  had  tutored  me 
In  many  kinds  of  wisdom,  was  this  truth 
Borne  in  upon  me.     Now,  averse  to  what 
I  failed  to  comprehend  in  her  remoteness, 
I  questioned,  with  intent  to  bring  her  back 
To  themes  of  mutual  interest.     She  at  once 
Resumed  the  slackened  thread  of  colloquy: 

"  No  form  of  oath  nor  any  least  restraint 
Do  we  impose  on  our  beloved  disciples. 
We  simply  strive  to  show  the  wisest  course — 
As  it  appears  to  us — at  any  turn 
In  any  single  life-path;  nor  attempt, 
By  arbitrary  strictures,  to  compel 
In  one  direction  all  the  countless  roads 
Of  different  destinations  that  converge 
At  any  single  point.    Small  as  it  is, 
Our  group  comprises  egos  so  diverse 
In  character  and  trend,  so  positive 
In  individuation,  so  defined 
And   all-complex  that   intuition   needs 
Must  be  alert  to  keep  the  master-key 
To  all  the  ever-varying  combinations. 

We  give  our  heart's  most  sacred  energies 
To  help  a  soul  to  find  the  true  key-note, 
Caught  from  the  new-born  stars,  to  which  is  writ 
Its  grand,  eternal  life-theme.    Once  this  great, 

75 


Heaven-guided  work  accomplished  for  a  soul, 

Thenceforth  we  leave  it  free.    For  love  can  aid 

Only  by  constant  shining,  and  nowise 

By  imposition  of  the  freest  lines 

Of  boundary  broad  intelligence  can  trace 

For  any  other  life's  periphery. 

We  cannot  know  another's  entire  need; 
And  when  we  foolishly  assume  that  knowledge 
Our  best-intended  efforts  work  but  harm. 
This  truth  must  be  conceived  as  the  initial  step 
In  understanding  that  shall  show  the  way 
To  aid  unhinderingly  our  fellow-creatures. 
And  we  at  Vashti's  guard  most  watchfully 
Our  speech  and  thought,  lest  we  in  anywise 
Precipitate  or  curb  another's  will, 
Judgment  or  choice; — though  of  necessity 
Our  very  atmosphere,  in  some  degree, 
Is  potent  to  restrain  or  stimulate. 
And  here  is  where  the  need  for  watchfulness, 
Fasting  and  ceaseless  prayer  is  ever  urgent. 
To  hold  that  subtle  aura  that  surrounds 
Our  spirits  always  pure  and  undefiled 
By  selfish,  sordid  thoughts ;  to  keep  it  rare 
And  vitalized  with  true  celestial  fire, 
Breathed  from  the  upper  worlds;  to  hallow  it 
By  constant  prayer  for  His  inspiring  love 
And  blessing,  that  we  evermore  may  bear 

76 


Glad  health  and  hope  to  weaker  souls  and  spirits, 

And  light  to  gladden  dreary,  sunless  lives, — 

Is  not  such  aim,  devotedly  pursued, 

Enough  to  give  the  days, — ay,  and  the  nights — 

Of  faithful  souls  to  unremitting  labor? 

But  thanks  to  Him  who  worketh  while  we  sleep. 

'Tis  not  our  constant  diligence  that  counts 

For  spiritual  achievement,  as  the  heart's 

Sincere,  complete  and  perfect  consecration. 

To  sift  the  heart's  desire,  and  teach  the  will 
Obedience  only  to  divine  command, — 
This  is  our  part,  the  rest  we  leave  to  Him." 

At  last  my  practical,  plain-reasoning  mind 
Began  to  glimpse  a  something  tangible 
In  her  clear-shining,  transcendental  faith 
That  hitherto — with  shame  do  I  confess  it — 
Had  seemed  to  me  a  zealot's  fantasy, — 
An  unsubstantial,  visionary  dream. 

I  hoped  she  would  continue,  for  desire 
For  deeper  understanding  of  her  creed 
Was  strong  within  me ;  but  apparently 
She  meant  not  to  resume,  and  I  in  doubt 
Of  how  to  frame  so  unaccustomed  thoughts, 
Reverted  to  the  more  familiar  subject- 

"  In  this  large  liberty  I  plainly  see 
Much  that  befits  the  free  intelligence 

77 


Of  reason-ripe,  experience-tutored  women. 

But  what  of  young,  ingenuous,  unformed  minds, 

With  all  their  crude,  tumultuous  emotions 

To  understand  and  guide  and  regXilate, 

While  judgment  still  awaits  Time's  training  hand 

Or  sleeps  in  embryo?    You  suffer  them, 

Unanxiously,  these  young,  fresh-hearted  girls, 

To  find  their  own  right  guidance  and  to  choose 

Their  path  in  life  while  ignorant  of  all 

Life's  mystery  and  meaning?  " 

"  Ignorance 

As  safely  as  experience  can  be  taught 
To  walk  with  calm,  unwavering  confidence 
By  intuition's  light.     The  little  path 
That  leads  to  wisdom's  fountain  all  may  find, — 
If  sound  of  brain  and  pure  of  heart  and  motive, — 
And  our  young  girls  are  early  taught  the  secret. 

Nor  are  they  limited  as  you  suppose, 
To  our  small  world  for  range  of  observation. 
They  come  and  go  as  freely  as  the  birds 
That  flit  'tween  two  dear  homes  and  two  sweet  sum- 
mers. 

For  some  have  fair  ancestral  roofs,  and  hearts 
Knit  by  the  ties  of  kin,  as  well  as  love, 
To  fondly  shelter  them ;  such  come  to  us 
Of  natural  choice,  most  cordially  approved 
Of  guardian  judgment,  their  time  of  sojourning 

78 


Depending  wholly  on  their  own  desires 
Or  changes  natural  to  life's  arrangements. 

We  let  no  bonds,  not  even  silken  ones, 
Fetter  the  birds  that  help  to  make  our  summer. 

But  some — not  migratory — find  with  us 
Their  only  home;  and  such  are  duly  given 
The  needful  taste  of  other  how  and  where, 
By  hospitality — not  patronage — 
Spontaneously  and  cordially  extended 
By  some  world-denizens  whose  hearts  are  with  us. 

Thus  you  perceive  that  Vashti's  does  not  aim 
To  foster  ignorance  of  aught  that  goes 
To  round  the  perfect  circle  of  a  life ; 
For  well  it  knows  the  beauty  and  the  worth 
Of  its  exhaustless  stores  of  priceless  treasure, 
Can  only  be  enhanced  by  sharpened  powers, 
To  weigh,  compare,  discriminate  and  value. 
And  when  these  young  souls  choose — thus  knowingly- 
A  life  devoted  to  our  sisterhood, 
We  even  then  accept  no  form  of  pledge; 
But  bid  them  bend  a  reverent-listening  ear 
To  hark  the  first  small  whisper  that  may  stir 
Within  the  heart  with  faint  premonishment 
Of  heirship  to  some  happier  waiting  kingdom. 

But  ah,  how  prayerfully  we  strive  to  teach 
The  heart  to  know  that  voice,  and  not  mistake 

79 


The  thousand  tongues  that  so  can  counterfeit 

All  but  its  last  inimitable  accent! 

Love!  Love!  the  mystic  syllable  that  stirred 

The  soul's  first  consciousness  long  ere  the  suns 

Evolved  from  chaos ;  Love,  the  immortal  breath 

That  quickened  cold,  insensate  clay  to  feel 

And  worship  and  reflect  its  Maker's  image ! 

Love !  Love !  the  first  and  final  utterance 

Of  system  unto  system,  voiceless  borne 

Across  the  vast,  abysmal,  starless  spaces! 

And  Love,  the  boundless,  quenchless,  deathless  fire 

That  leaps  unto  its  own, — world  unto  world, 

Life  unto  life: — thro'  hopeless  prison  walls 

Of  dumb,  impassive  clay,  soul  unto  soul! 

•** '     '    *" 

Ah !  who  hath  learned  to  stand  with  mantled  face 
And  reverent  spirit  while  Love  passeth  by 
And  toucheth  him,  and  whispereth  to  his  heart 
The  long-lost  word  of  magic:  lo,  his  name 
Is  writ  among  the  eternal  stars,  to  ring 
Forever  in  the  songs  of  seraphim ! 

How  small  a  word !  and  yet  methinks  it  holds 
The  Alpha  and  Omega  of  that  theme 
The  soul  is  set  to  con  thro'  endless  cycles. 

When  all  is  done,  and  we  at  last  have  found 
Nirvana — Bliss — Attainment — perfect  Rest, 
The  circle  of  our  blessedness  will  be 

80 


Still  filled  and  bounded  by  that  little  word 
That  babes  can  lisp  and  spell  into  its  signs 
For  us,  forever  new  mysterious  meaning. 

Then  wherefore  should  we  seek  so  toilsomely 
Aught  else  wherewith  to  compass  this  our  world, 
Or  wherefore  strive  to  learn,  or  to  impress 
On  virgin  hearts  a  word  of  lesser  import? 

Love  covereth  all  to  whoso  measureth 
Its  minimum  of  might;  or  consciously 
Respondeth  in  his  spirit  to  the  least 
Of  all  its  myriad  minor  harmonies. 
And  Vashti's  never-ceasing  suppliance  craves 
Its  inspiration  and  full  quickening 
To  every  heart  her  fostering  arms  enshelter. 
Once  so  inspired  and  quickened  know, 
The  spirit's  safely  poised  for  upward  flight 
Toward  higher  realm  and  purer  where  the  soul 
No  other  language  speaks  nor  comprehends 
But  Love's  great  music. 

Yearningly 

The  Mother-heart  at  Vashti's  watches  o'er 
The  youthful  neophyte;  for  mother-love 
Is  slow  to  learn  that  deepest  travailing 
Cannot  avail  vicariously  to  save 
Another  from  her  meed  of  chastening. 
And  Love's  unerring  star  doth  sometimes  lead 

81 


Thro'  pathless  deserts  where  the  soul  must  die 

A  thousand  deaths;  for  Love's  true  mission  fails 

Except  it  guides  the  ego  finally, — 

Thro'  hard  and  desperate  issues  tho'  it  be — 

Out  from  the  land  of  bondage.    This  may  be 

Not  till  the  tight  calyx  of  our  earthlier  selves 

Bursts  with  the  birth-throes  of  the  struggling  spirit; 

Or  else  corrodes  away  in  the  salt  sea 

Of  tears  and  suffering.     Earth-bonds  hold  fast 

And  many  a  strong,  colossal  soul  requires 

Both  means  of  liberation  ere  it  tastes 

The  fine  elixir  of  a  hard-won  freedom. 

"  Thy  will  be  done !  "  full  reverently  we  strive 
To  teach  our  mother-hearts  complete  response 
To  that  supremest  prayer,  when  cometh  Love — 
Divinest  courier  from  the  courts  of  Heaven — 
And  spiriteth  away  our  fairest  flowers 
To  the  great  garden  of  experience. 
Not  ours  the  right  by  smallest  obstacle 
To  hinder  this  transplanting.    For  God  brooks 
No  interference  with  His  plans,  nor  grants 
To  any  soul  the  power  to  liberate 
Another,  from  fate's  toils. 

•  •••••••• 

"  We  both  were  young  when  marriage  came  to  us. 
Love's  hand  had  lightly  swept  such  surface  strings 

82 


As  wake  in  youthful  hearts  a  melody 

All  sweet  and  wild.    But  silent  and  untouched 

Lay  all  those  deeper  chords  whose  dominants 

Base  such  grave  themes  and  living  symphonies 

As  once  evoked  go  on  and  ever  on 

In  full  vibration,  pure  and  deep  and  strong, 

To  lose  themselves  at  last  in  tones  so  fine 

No  ear  but  Love's  can  catch  the  strains  divine. 


Now  looking  back  how  plainly  I  perceive 
How  childish  and  how  selfish  were  those  prayers. 
My  eager,  untaught  heart  athirst  for  joy, 
Hungry  for  knowledge,  ever  crying  out 
For  larger  sense  of  being,  richer  life 
And  clearer  wisdom,  still  refused  to  drink 
The  cup  it  so  had  prayed  for : — pushed  aside 
The  hand  that  held  the  very  food  it  craved, — 
And  cried  and  clamored  on.    Perverse  and  blind, 
The  hot  untutored,  wilful  heart  of  youth! 
It  hears  no  music  in  the  minor  chords 
Evoked  'neath  sorrow's  hand.     It  sees  no  light 
Save  in  the  gay,  glad  smile  of  happiness, 
Nor  will  believe  that  it  may  find  its  joy 
Save  by  the  ways  of  joy.    In  vain  for  me 
The  food  that  giveth  life  was  daily  spread 
In  lavish  plenty.     Still  I  prayed  for  bread 

83 


And  starved  and  anguished  on,  I  wanted  back 
The  glamour  of  that  care-free  morning-time. 


Sometimes  the  Father  suffers  us  to  walk 
A  little  way  in  some  mistaken  path 
We  think  is  duty ;  nor  will  turn  aside 
Our  footsteps  till  unto  the  utmost  tried 
Our  strength  deserts  us  and  our  will  forsakes. 
But  never  purposeless  are  these  mistakes. 
For  this  and  this  alone  it  seems  to  me 
The  loving  wisdom  suffers  them  to  be : 
That  feeling  all  our  weakness  we  may  grasp 
More  firm  the  hand  that  holds  us  in  its  clasp : 
That  painful  consciousness  of  erring  sight 
May  force  us  nearer  to  the  perfect  light, 
Whose  rays,   perchance,   piercing   our   hearts    may 

show 

The  lurking  self  that  did  mislead  us  so, — 
A  self  that  undiscovered  might  become 
A  power  to  lure  us  farther  yet  from  home. 
How  apt  are  we  in  our  impatient  moods 
To  think  the  ways  circuitous  and  slow 
By  which  we're  led  to  wisdom  needless  be; 
That  we  a  clearer  light,  path  more  direct 
Could  better  bear.    But  strangely  we  forget 
The  winding  roads  and  many,  bramble-grown, 

84 


That  leading  from  our  hearts  our  feet  have  worn 
With  wilful  straying. 

Till  by  homesickness 

And  longing,  pain  and  thirst  that  nothing  else 
Can  cure,  is  born  the  will  to  line  a  path 
Direct  for  home  till  we:  grown  strong  and  staunch 
In  singleness  of  heart,  can  hew  it  smooth 
And  strictly  walk  therein,  nor  let  our  feet 
Be  lured  aside  by  winding  shady  ways. 
'Twere  all  unwise  our  footsteps  to  compel 
Through  paths  too  straitly  struck.    The  thorns  would 

tear 

And  pierce  us  till  in  anguish  and  despair 
The  lofty  aspiration  would  be  quenched: — 
The  unformed  soul  from  fostering  spirit  wrenched." 

She  paused,  and  like  some  softly-molded  sphynx 
Sat  silent  with  that  rapt,  far-seeing  look 
That  came  so  oft  into  her  deep  true  eyes; 
While    o'er   her    face    there    stole    the    white    high 

light 
That  made  her  look  as  Beatricia  might. 

What  heights   and   depths   her   spirit   compassed 

when 

My  Soeur  Marie  looked  so,  I  cannot  say — 
For  always  o'er  me  came  a  hush  of  awe; 

85 


And  for  the  moment  I  too  seemed  to  be 
Merged  into  formless  truth's  infinity. 

•  •••••••• 

Gently  and  reverently  as  one  would  lift 
The  lid  to  gaze  upon  a  coffined  face, 
I  turned  those  sacred  leaves.     O  white,  white  leaves ! 

0  consecrated  book !    And  can  ye  still 

Be  less  than  breathing,  sensate  things,  to  hold 
So  long  shut  here  to  silentness  the  cries 
Wrung  from  that  pearl-pure  heart? — And  I,  dear 
heart, 

1  dreamed  that  I  had  suffered ; — blamed  swift  fate 
That  cut  me  off,  at  one  sharp,  sudden  stroke 
From  all  I  loved. — How  sweetly  merciful! — 

I  know  it  now.    Ah !  Soeur  Marie,  thine  agony, 
Drawn  thro'  the  length  of  lingering  days  that  saw 
Thy  wifely  love  slow-tortured  to  its  death, 
Has  taught  my  coward  soul  what  mean  the  words 
"  To  suffer  and  be  strong ! " 

On  each  brief  page, 

In  nervous  hand,  the  rough  staccato  lines 
Were  palely  pencil-traced,  as  if  they  stood 
For  muffled  sobs,  the  heart  they  welled  from  meant 
Should  reach  no  keenest  ear.    And  as  I  read 
My  own  heart  wellnigh  broke,  and  blinding  tears 
Ran  down  like  rain  as  if  to  wash  away 
The  print  of  torturing  nails  and  cruel  spear 
That  so  had  crucified  a  woman's  heart. 

86 


O,  pitying  God !    To  stand  thus  helpless  by 
And  see  a  soul  in  Thine  own  image  formed, 
Fling  down  Thy  highest  gifts  beneath  his  feet 
And  trample  them  as  swine  will  trample  lilies ! 

And  can  I  nothing,  then,  impart  to  him 
Of  strength  or  wisdom,  or  abiding  wish 
To  choose  the  better  portion? 

Then  wherefore  is  love  born  between  two  souls 
To  weld  them  close  till  one  can  know  no  hurt 
And  not  the  other,  if  the  tenuous  bonds 
No  force  can  sever,  prove  but  ropes  of  sand 
When  desperately  we  try  their  treacherous  strength 
To  draw  our  own  aback  from  death  or  danger? 

And  what  availeth  prayer?    Have  I  not  asked 
In  faith  and  humbleness,  of  thee,  O  Heaven, 
A  boon  that  Love  itself  would  sanctify 
To  good  ineffable?     Have  I  craved  aught 
In  selfishness  or  worldliness  of  spirit? 
O  Holy  Father,  keep  thro'  Thine  own  name, 
Those  whom  Thou  gavest  me !    And  from  the  world 
Of  evil  keep  Thou  them!     So  even  He, 
The  sinless  One,  did  pray  for  His  beloved. 
And  wert  thou  dumb  to  Him,  O  Heaven,  as  now 
Thou  art  to  me? 

Ah !  Christ,  thou  patient  Christ ! 
Thou  all  compassionate, — and  was  it  thus 

87 


Thy  heart — that  deep,  true  heart,  the  tenderest 
That  ever  ached  for  suffering,  sinful  world, — 
Was  hurt  when  Judas  kist  thee? 
Nay,  Master,  not  like  this,  for  Thou 
Could'st  ne'er  have  loved  depraved  Iscariot  so ! 

And  yet  they  say  of  me  that  I  am  cold — 
Not  tender,  soft  or  warm,  as  women  are 
Who  are  less  strong! — Well,  if  to  feel 
And  suffer  thus  is  to  be  hard  and  cold, 
And  lacking  woman's  tenderness  and  warmth, 
Then  make  me,  Heaven,  as  soft  as  molten  wax, 
As  warm  as  unslant  ray  of  noonday  sun, 
That  when  a  hand  again  shall  stab  my  heart, 
The  cleanly-cloven  parts  together  straight 
Shall  melt,  and  leave  no  scar ! 

And  it  has  come — the  worst  has  come  at  last! 
Tho'  I  have  prayed  and  prayed  that  Thou  would'st 

spare 
Me  this!     I  said — and  meant  it  too — that  I  would 

bear 

Whatever  else  might  come ;  and  all  the  past, 
Thou  knowest  full  patiently  I  bore, — but  oh! 
Not  this !  not  this !  O,  tender,  watchful  care 
That's  promised  to  Thy  least  of  creatures,  where 
Shall  they  whom  Thou  forsakest  thenceforth  go 
With  their  petitions  ?     O  Love !     O  Fatherhood, 

88 


In  which  I  trusted !    I  call  to  Thee !    I  grope 
The  dark  that  closes  round  me.    Still  must  I  hope 
That  Thou  art  somewhere  near — art  still  all-good, 
All-wise,  all-kind. 

Henceforth  alone, — alone, 
Asking  no  aid,  no  light ;  I  take  my  way 
Unguided  thro'  the  night, — no  longer  pray, 
Since  prayer  can  fail,  and  God  forget  His  own! 

A  vast,  bare,  hopeless  reach.    Ah !  shuddering  soul, 
Must  we  two  cross  that  pitiless  expanse, 
Where  foot  hath  never  trod,  nor  eye  explored, 
Nor  voice  disturbed  its  silence?     Must  we  learn 
What  felt  the  "  Man  of  Sorrows,"  desert-bound, 
Those  forty  fasting  days  ?    The  "  Man  of  Sorrows !  "' 
What  man  of  other  sort  did  ever  walk 
A  lifetime  thro'  on  this  forsaken  earth? 
"  He  bore  our  griefs !  "    How  helps  it,  since  ourselves 
Their  whole  unmitigated,  toilsome  weight 
Must  bear,  with  none  to  lighten?    "  He  takes  away 
The  sins  of  the  world.    '  Sins  of  the  world.' ' 

How  long 

Alas!  how  long  prayed  we  that  He  would  take 
Sin  from  a  single  heart?    Availed  it  aught? 
"  If  thou  hast  faith."    Ah  had  we  not? — such  faith 
As  little  lisping  child's,  that  nightly  craves 
Thy  loving  care  at  reverent  mother's  knee. 

89 


Poor  superstition!     Myth-born  fantasy 
That  lures  the  trusting  soul  and  tempts  away 
From  Reason's  well-springs?    Vain,  delusive  dream 
That  snares  our  hearts,  and  makes  us  cringing  slaves 
While  joy  abideth,  only  to  betray 
And  leave  us  desolate  of  prop  or  guide 
When  sorrow  comes,  or  stress  of  suffering. 

Farewell,  false  faith.     Better  the  arid  waste, 
With  burning  heat  and  thirst,  since  they  be  real, 
Than  all  thy  fair,  chimeric  promises 
That  ashes  turn  at  touch  of  mortal  needs. 

So  it  doth  seem,  thou  soul  of  mine,  that  we 
Can  keep  a  certain  life  within  us  ev'n  here, 
Where  is  no  throb  of  life  nor  sign  that  aught 
Takes  cognizance  that  we  are  still  in  being. 

I  had  not  thought  that  one  could  even  be 
And  God  be  not!     Well,  so  much  have  we  gained 
Of  knowledge,  thou  and  I,  and  nevermore 
Again  need  fear  that  aught  can  nihilate 
Pure  consciousness,  or  rob  us  of  each  other. 

What  think'st  thou,  do  the  dead — the  chilled  in 

blood 

And  nerve  and  brain — the  dead  that  do  not  walk — 
Do  they  lie  thus?    Does  thought  go  on,  and  sight, 
And  memory,  keen  and  clear  and  absolute, 
Tho'  irrelate,  and  all  divorced  from  feeling? 

90 


Where  then  must  go  the  throbs  of  passion  ?  Where 
The  fierce,  unslaked  ambitions?     Whither  flees 
The  proud,  imperious  will  when  round  a  heart 
Death's  icy  finger  circles? 

'Tis  a  state 

Well  worth  attaining,  this,  methinks,  where  all 
The  clear,  gray  sea  of  thought  and  reason  lies 
Unrippled  by  the  winds  of  will  or  wishing. 

How  many  hundred  aeons  since,  my  soul, 
Think'st  thou  we  dreamed  that  God  and  Love  were  all 
Of  Life?     Poor  feverish  dream!     'Tis  past,  thank 

God!— 
What's  that?    Thank  God?    Thank  GOD?    Why, 

God  is  not! 

God?    God?    O  heart,  be  still!    Wake  not  again 
To  feel  and  torture  me.    Dost  thou  not  know 
A  heart  should  break  but  once  and  after  that 
Forever-more  be  quiet?    God?    God? — that  voice! — 
What!    thou,    my    soul!      That    voice   in    thee!    In 
THEE  !— 

Forgive !  Forgive !   I  knew  Thee  not.  I  thought — 
What  was't  I  thought? 

And  Thou  hast  never  left  me? 
Not  e'en  that  time  when  no  light  was,  nor  hope 
Nor  any  touch  of  comfort?   What?   'Twas  Thou? — 
Thyself? — the  dark,  the  pain,  the  blank  despair? 

91 


O  blind,  that  thought  to  know  thy  soul,  nor  knew 
The  Christ  that  bideth  in  thee ! 

O  blessed  grief ! 

/:    O  bliss  of  sorrowing  that  brought  me  thus 
In  very  truth  to  know  Thee!     Never  more — 
Ah!  never — never  more  depart  Thou  from  me. 
Keep  Thou  me  near,  nor  let  this  heart  again 
Refuse  to  feel,  or  make  some  poor  response 
When  Thy  dear  Master-hand  shall  deign  to  touch 
Its  dormant  strings  and  thrill  them  into  music.  ,, 

For  long  I  sat  enwrapt  in  revery, 
The  little  book  close-clasped  in  hands  that  throbbed 
And  thrilled  with  sympathy,  whose  depths  till  now 
My  heart  nor  guessed  nor  dreamed.    The  o'er-full  past 
I  lived  again, — my  own  and  Soeur  Marie's; — 
For  strangely  blent  in  close  coincidence 
Of  trend  and  circumstance,  our  lives  had  seemed 
Like  twin-born  streams  to  take  their  prescient  course 
Sure  of  the  destined  point  of  final  meeting. 

Dear,  white-souled  Soaur  Marie!     I  knew  her  now, 
The  brave,  sweet,  pure-aspiring  "  other  self," 
Whose  image  deep  subconscious  memory 
Had  kept  safe-guarded  from  my  skeptic-veiled, 
Doubt-shrouded  inner  vision.    Yet  how  had  that 
So  silent  memory  haunted!    Disheartened  oft, 

92 


With  homesick  longing  had  I  turned  away 

From  one  whose  smile  or  accent  stirred  in  me 

A  moment's  thrill  of  hope,  to  chide  myself 

For  foolish  vague  expectance.     Still  I  harked 

Again  and  yet  again  for  that  dear  voice, 

And  waited  for  that  smile  that  should  betray 

The  friend  I  yearned  for — friend  who  should  reflect 

Myself,  but  truer; — friend  whose  heart  should  hold, 

If  not  more  love  than  mine,  yet  purer  faith 

And  larger  charity ;  whose  life  should  be 

My  highest  dreams  of  virtue  realized; 

Whose  spirit  should  infold  my  own  and  lend 

The  needful  strength  and  buoyancy,  and  large, 

Calm  courage  to  inspire  my  energies 

To  scale  the  heights  of  holiest  aspiration. 

Yet,  tho'  I  waited  thus,  half -consciously, 
Thro'  all  my  earlier  years:  when  Time  at  last 
Brought  fuller  answer  to  the  unvoiced  prayer 
Than  my  half-hearted  faith  had  dared  prevision, 
So  grief-engrained  was  I,  so  doubt-involved 
And  self-absorbed,  the  gift  I  coveted 
Had  long  been  mine  ere  woke  the  recognition. 
But  ah!     I  knew  her  now  at  last — my  friend, 
Whose  patient  love,  despite  my  slow  response, 
Had  won  me  from  myself,  had  set  me  free 
From  cold  inertia's  clutch  and  led  me  far 
Along  the  path  to  Wisdom.    Yes,  far  on 

93 


And  up  that  path  must  I  unknowingly 

Have  climbed ;  for  lo !  the  valley  where  her  love 

Had  found  me,  stretched  in  dimness  far  below 

The  sun-kissed  summits  of  my  blessed  present. — 

Blessed?  even  so,  for  revelation,  sure 

And  silent  as  the  swiftly  coming  dawn 

Broke  o'er  my  musing  spirit.    Like  a  voice 

From  out  the  little  book — soundless  but  clear — 

This  message  thrilled  me :    "  O  blind,  that  think'st  to 

know 

Thy  friend,  thy  better  self,  yet  knowest  not  /-- 
'  Where  two  or  three  be  gathered  in  my  name, 
Together,  there  am  I.'  "     A  mighty  wave 
Of  light  and  understanding,  thrilled  with  the  ache 
Of  Love  ineffable,  swept  over  me. 
I  bowed  my  head  upon  the  little  book 
And  all  the  frozen  deeps  within  me  melted; 
That  well-known  voice,  my  Soeur  Marie,  myself — 
Where  had  I  dreamt  this  blessed  dream  before — 
On  what  Love-radiant  star?    A  second's  space 
I  glimpsed  that  dear,  adored  familiar  heaven, 
In  banishment  forgotten,  yet  enshrined 
Deep  in  the  spirit's  deathless  memory. — 
I  saw  myself  a  dear,  beloved  child 
Whose  place  within  that  many-mansioned  Home 
Was  mine  from  Time's  beginning — must  be  mine 
Thro'  all  eternity.     No  other  soul — 

94 


However  accounted  worthier  than  I — 
By  any  chance  could  fill.     There  must  be 
A  vacant  place  forever,  well  I  knew, 
Till  of  my  own  volition  I  should  choose 
To  claim  my  priceless,  waiting  heritage. 

Ah,  the  love!  the  love  that  so  could  cherish 
An  erring,  wayward,  wilful-straying  child 
Thro'  cycles  of  indifference  and  forgetting! 
Where  now  the  doubting  heart,  the  wary,  cold, 
Keen,  skeptic  reason?    Where  the  bitterness 
That  spurned  the  thought  of  wise  Beneficence 
Behind  the  ruthless  fate  that  worsted  me 
And  robbed  me  of  my  blindly  worshipped  idols. 

A  gentle  step,  a  touch  upon  my  hand, 
No  need  for  speech ;  a  meeting  of  the  eyes 
And  that  was  told  that  all  the  eloquence 
Of  myriad  tongues  must  still  have  left  unuttered. 

Together  there,  beneath  the  dear  old  pine, 
We  stood  and  watched  the  sun  sink  slowly  down 
Beyond  the  purple  hills,  and  with  it  sank 
The  old  grief-wrecked,  doubt-freighted,  useless  life 
Into  oblivion's  sea.    And  with  the  red, 
Gold  harvest  moon  and  tremulous  evening  star 
Uprose  my  soul,  re-born  and  purified. 

'Tis  years  agone,  and  still  the  fadeless  light 
That  dawned  for  me  that  far  off  blessed  day 

95 


Shines  on  undimmed.     With  deep  abiding  peace 

I  dwell  among  my  chosen  sisters,  far 

From  the  world's  troubled  dream ;  and  when  the  path 

Traced  for  my  feet  leads  back  among  the  sad, 

Sick  hearts  that  know  not  of  the  blessed  balm 

That  healed  my  own,  still  trustfully  I  follow; — 

For  well  I  know  that  work  the  Father's  love 

Hath  sent  His  angel  Sorrow  to  prepare 

For  those  who  seek  to  know  and  do  His  will : 

Nor  is  it  asked  of  me  in  loneliness 

To  sow  the  seed  and  patiently  await 

Apart  from  human  sympathy  the  harvest. 

For  wheresoe'er  His  dear  hand  guideth  me 

Not  far  away  walks  gentle  Sffiur  Marie. 


Where'er  Thou  wilt:  I  follow. — 'Tis  enough 
That  Thou  hast  walked  this  way.    I  will  not  seek 
To  trace  the  path  beyond  the  single  step 
Before  my  feet.    Tho'  hard  and  steep,  or  drear 
And  waste  and  desolate,  I  cannot  fear. 

Thy  love  surroundeth  me.    Lead  Thou  me  on. 

THE  END. 


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